


Animal

by Zzzara



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Animagus, Animagus Draco Malfoy, Animagus Harry Potter, Animal Transformation, Animal Troye Sivan, Animals, Auror Trainees, Auror Training, Based On a Troye Sivan Song, Bisexual Harry Potter, Bottom Draco Malfoy, Bottom Harry Potter, Bottoming, Bottoming from the Top, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Closeted Character, Closeted Harry Potter, Denial, Denial of Feelings, Drarry, Dream Sex, Dreams, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Sex, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, First Kiss, First Time, First Time Bottoming, First Time Topping, Gay, Gay Draco Malfoy, Gay Sex, Happy Ending, Hogwarts, Hurt/Comfort, Jealous Draco Malfoy, Jealous Harry Potter, Jealousy, Kissing, Legilimency, Loss of Control, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Magically Powerful Harry Potter, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, POV Draco Malfoy, POV First Person, Pining, Pining Draco Malfoy, Pining Harry Potter, Post-Hogwarts, Powerful Harry Potter, Resolved Sexual Tension, Room of Requirement, Sexual Content, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Tension, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Top Draco Malfoy, Top Harry Potter, Topping, Topping from the Bottom, Transformation, Troye Sivan Song inspired, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Werewolf, Werewolves, Wet Dream, all Troye's songs are Drarry AF, animagus fic, first time for one of them, kiss, sex with feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2019-08-27 21:56:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 41,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16710781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zzzara/pseuds/Zzzara
Summary: There is this childish urge in me: I want to laugh and call Potter names, getting under his skin, making him look, and notice me and respond. Making him pay attention. Making him furious, fierce and passionate.Do I actually miss those school days? Oh, whom am I kidding? I want Potter's attention and his eyes on me. I want to feel his presence, focused on me alone, making my heart speed up, making me feel alive and alert. But now, I don't want his ire or spite; I don’t want to be mean in return. I want banter without meanness; I want his laughter and bright eyes, shooting glances at me; I want him to want to make me laugh. I want this easiness that he has with Weasley. I want him to like me. I want to discover how his fondness would feel, if even his hatred always made my heart race. And now, when we are not stupid children anymore, maybe I stand a second chance?





	Animal

**Author's Note:**

> This story has been inspired by Troye Sivan's amazing love song 'Animal'.
> 
> [Troye is my never ceasing inspiration, and I strongly recommend to listen to 'Animal' before reading this fic - it would give you a feeling of immersion ].  
> *it seems a summary including credits for Troye is firmly stuck with me for the time being... but what can I do? He is so talented and I love him so much, and all his songs so incredibly Drarry! I simply cannot stay away from his songs and not transmit them into Drarry-fics.*
> 
> English is not my native language and I don't have a beta, so forgive me all the mistakes.
> 
> [Disclaimer: all characters belong to J.K. Rowling; here I don't make any profit whatsoever; I write for my own entertainment.]

**Animal**

Grasses brush across my eyes and I squint, feeling the urge to sneeze. I don't want to give my presence away, it might be dangerous, it might be lethal even. Lowering my head, I quietly shuffle forward, feeling as my stomach drags across the scratchy path underneath.

Straining its ears, the giant black Dog turns its head. I still.

The dark outline of its shape against the black forest is almost undecipherable in the moonless night. Should be for anyone but me. My eyes see it as though in the light of a day. Looking in my direction, the beast sniffs the air, and I hear its shallow breathing even from where I lie, concealed by the grass. Every muscle of my body is wound tight, ready to bolt out, to pounce if need be, aiming for its throat, fighting for my life. I am not as afraid as I should be; my instincts alert, I am ready for whatever is to come. My heart's erratic rhythm is the only thing about me moving, otherwise I melt into darkness completely still.

It looks and looks... Holding my breath, I wait until it turns away and heads into the woods. Barely daring to breathe, I observe its furry back, the movement of its shoulders as it walks, the giant head, until it disappears among the trees. I must get away from here and back to the castle. Keeping close to the ground, I move in the shadows, barely disturbing the high grass that parts before me as though on its own will, letting me pass, concealing my trail. Only reaching the obscured entrance in the back wall, I rise on my feet. The black outline of the Forest at the edge of Hogwarts grounds is already highlighted with the beginning of dawn. Time to hurry, unless I want to be seen.

**

"Mr. Potter."

Weasley jabs him in the ribs, making Potter start awake where he's been dozing off at his desk. The prat is dead to the world today. What was he doing last night, I wonder?

I haven't got much sleep either. Having sneaked back into my room, restess I tossed and turned in my bed, thinking about the Dog. There was something abnormal about it. Its giant size, the way it held itself, I don't know. _A Werewolf?.._ but I dismissed the thought as soon as it had appeared. It's about a week till the full Moon. Very probably it was not a dog; as much as I myself last night was not what I am now. Who knows what the Forest may conceal? Why was the beast wandering the school grounds though?

"Yes, Professor?" Potter sits up straight in his chair.

"Do kindly pay attention."

"Yes, Professor." Potter repeats, staring ahead. From where I sit I see that his eyes are glassy and he's all but sleeping with them open. The prat.

Actually, I'm exaggerating. He doesn't annoy me as much as he once did. Two and a half years have passed since the war: some things have changed, some things have worn off, a lot of things don't matter anymore, and some of them look ridiculous to me now, when I think of them. I have changed a lot, how could I not? And so did Potter, I suppose.

This year we both joined the Auror training, and they sent us to Hogwarts to take the express course before our NEWTs in DADA, Transfigurations, Charms and Potions. These are the NEWTs the Ministry requires of the Auror trainees. This is why we are here at Hogwarts - Potter, Weasley and I - the three 20-year-old guys sitting in classes with seventh-year teenagers.

Covering his mouth Potter yawns, and at once I feel my own face urges me to do the same, I try to keep it still.

"The most essential thing about Transfiguration is to be able to reach deep down and connect with your intention at its very core, bringing it up, channelling it so that your own magic and your intention become one..." McGonagall continues.

 _Yes, do tell me how it's done_ , I think smugly. I had only recently accomplished my transformation for the first time, but I’m really proud. Though sometimes my focus slips, and my body turns back human against my will.

I remember the shock of the very first time I had transformed. I was in that weird state of mind that I know now precedes transformation. Not quite slumber, but not fully alert either. I wanted - what? I didn't know, but my whole body craved for it. I remember closing my eyes to that sense of falling, dissolving - I let go. I felt something weird was happening, and when I opened my eyes to the mirror, I cried out at what I saw: the image was shifting from human to animal and back, as though my body was uncertain which form to retain. It was a sight to behold: a giant black cat - a Panther. In shock I stared into its green eyes with the vertical pupils long and sharp... I had no idea I was an Animagus until then.

It was about a month ago, before I came to Hogwarts this September. Later I'd discovered that transformation was only possible when I was at ease with myself, when I was at my most comfortable state of mind, when my spirit was high. It was easier to accomplish when I was brimming with joy. They say something similar about producing a Patronus. I don't know, I've never managed to conjure one, I don't know how it's done. I've found out that transformation helps me sedate my mind when I grow restless. I only have to become this Cat, and run and run through the wilderness, feeling no fear, knowing no exhaustion, to feel replenished and whole again. Why a Panther, why a black cat when I am so pale that sometimes it seems I'm fading out? I have no idea, this is the most unexpected thing of all. Perhaps an Animagus form has nothing to do with one's actual human appearance.

"... reach into the very core and let your magic flow freely, until it becomes one with your intention..."

 _Yes, exactly,_ I think, _but not quite._ But then again, she is telling us advanced Transfiguration rules, not an Animagus transformation. For me it's rather letting your true nature to take over, not resisting to it; it's that simple and that hard at the same time.

The sound of the bell startles me, and I glance at Potter who snaps out of his wide-eyed slumber, blinking, looking around, until his gaze lands on me and our eyes meet. We stare at each other for a few seconds, until Weasley jabs him in the ribs again, making Potter turn to him. For some reason I am annoyed with Weasley, I don't know why. Potter stands up, turning away, and throws the strap of the satchel over his shoulder. I should gather my things and stand up, too, but I sit there like an idiot, staring at Potter's retreating back. I follow him with my eyes until he disappears through the doorway with Weasley in tow. His face is still before me: his sharp black eyebrows against the pale face, they always caught my attention as much as his bright eyes did, always made me want to stare, which I could never allow myself. Potter does have one of _those_ faces, yes. Shaking myself, I stand up and follow other students out of the room.

**

The twilight is falling, and there's no one left on the Quidditch pitch. No one but me, circling above the field in the air. I should probably head back to the castle, but I point my broom away from the stadium, flying in the direction of the Lake. Because why not? I am not obligated to be in my room by the curfew, after all.

The Lake waters are inky-black, unmoving, there is not even the faintest breeze. Something down there catches my eye, and my heart flips. A black shape, moving quickly along the water edge. I stir my broom a bit further down to peer closely, but I already know what it is. The Dog, crossing the Hogwarts grounds. Its pace is swift, and in no time it’s obvious it is heading in the direction of the Forest. I follow its progress from above. What has the freaky beast been doing here again, I wonder? Almost reaching the edge of the Forest, it stops abruptly, looking up, and my hands on the broom go cold. Because I know it looks directly at me, I know it sees me; I just know. I hover in the air, not daring to move, suddenly afraid of falling down. The Dog stares and stares, until it finally turns away and steps into the Forest. Thick treetops obscure it from my view.

Heading back to the castle, I am so unsettled that I don't dare to hop off the broom until I am before the back entrance.

**

I can't sleep; I cannot. After two hours of tossing in my bed, I sit up. Quarter to one, the clock says. I feel restless and itchy, and I already know what this is about. Recently I've discovered this need to transform, to dissolve and shed my human foil, ceasing to exist and finding myself anew.

Slipping out of my room, I hurry along the corridors. My thin canvas trainers don't make any sound against the flagstones. However, I am not in danger of being caught. Even if I met a teacher or Filch patrolling the corridors, it's not like they'd put me in detention. I am an adult and can wander around freely whenever I want. Yet still, I'd prefer not to be seen leaving the castle at this hour.

I head to the Lake, where there is a bunch of trees at the edge. Glancing around, I quickly begin to undress. Here I usually hide my clothes under the large round rock. Once naked, I stretch, taking a deep breath, exhaling slowly and repeat. Closing my eyes, I let the night air caress my bare skin, relishing the soft feeling of the grass under my toes. Inhale, exhale, slowly and slower, until calmness settles over my whole being; until surety fills me, until I am able to reach into my very soul, down to the core, where my nature is calling for me, where my truest self awaits. We reach for each other, my palms meeting its paws, gripping firmly and holding tight. Leaning in, I look into the green eyes with the vertical pupils long and sharp, feeling soft fur of its forehead against my skin. Its purr is spinning the air, until I cannot tell which one of us is making the sound that vibrates through me like that of a thick string being disturbed. Baring my claws, I stretch and yawn, and finally open my eyes to the night that is not darker than morning for me now.

Smells and sounds assault my senses even before I open my eyes. The night is alive, darkness breathing with secrets unknown to me when I am human. My body sings in tune to the magic of the earth and trees and water - the nature is welcoming me. I want to run among the trees, my swiftness outsmarted only by the wind; I want to blend into the night, gathering the shimmering pollen of starlight on my whiskers. I pounce forward in a giant leap, and another, breaking into the run. Hitting the ground, my paws don't make a sound; my body is picking up speed, its strength unravelling with every second that I run along the water edge. In no time the Forest is before me, its ancient trees welcoming me in their shelter. I slow down, moving among thick tree-trunks and bushes. The Forest is whispering to me, its every tree and leaf alive with magic which presence human senses are not able to encompass in its entirety. I walk and walk, among the darkness, unafraid and free, relishing this feeling of bliss and belonging, but alert and on my guard every second of it. This is a feline nature, I don't dwell on it, it simply is, and I am _it._ I would never be able to feel like this in the middle of the wilderness in my human form.

A faint light among the trees ahead draws my eyes. I approach the clearing. I know this place, I came here before. Pressing myself to the ground, I move closer and stop, concealed by thick bushes; my breath stops. There in the middle is the source of the white shimmering light that has drawn me here. Unicorns. A lot of them, about a dozen - right there, in front of me. I have never seen so many. Creatures are moving, tossing their heads, whispering to each other. Yes, I have no doubt they are talking. They speak, only the human race is too thick and dumb to understand them. Even I, as I am now, can't comprehend a word. But I know they are talking, I feel it in the air, I see it in movements they make. As though drawn by an invisible force, I shuffle forward and look. I want to go there and join them, to move among their shimmering herd, gathering sparks of their magic out of the air. I don't know if I am allowed to, or whether I would be welcome. Rising from the ground, I step into the clearing. Approaching I see _something_ among them, something dark and different to the liquid shimmering mass. Here it is: that damned Dog is sitting in the middle, sniffing the air, lifting its head to rub its nose with the Unicorn's as though in greeting. I stop. I know Unicorns would do me no harm. If anything, if I weren’t wanted, they’d politely exclude me from their circle. But this Dog, I don't know…  They allow it to come near them, it must mean something, at least that it harbours no evil intentions. But I am on my guard, I should be; this is my way.

One of the creatures turns its head in my direction, and I have a feeling it says something to me, but I don't understand. Noise and shuffle die down, more of them turn. They are not hostile, but they are not welcoming either - this much I am able to gather. The Dog turns and sees me. Adrenaline is winding me up. It still might attack me, though I doubt it will. It takes a step in my direction, and I take a step back. It begins to walk towards me, and I don't like it. I bare my teeth, backing off under the trees, and the Dog stops. Hastily I turn, slipping into the shadows before it begins to pursue me. It still might, and I lower myself to the ground, hiding in the underbrush, waiting. Minutes pass, but no one appears. Keeping myself low among the shrubs, I head back to the Forest edge.

**

"We're gonna kick your arse, mate!" Weasley laughs, sending something non-verbal in Potter's direction. "Malfoy, come _on!"_

Weasley and I are against Potter together. How is this even my life?

"You _wish!"_ Potter throws back at with a hex that barely misses my nose. And this is all it takes, for how could I ever resist an invitation like this from Potter?

The DADA professor has paired us up, but it doesn't matter, we’d be after one another all the same.

"Scared, Potter?" I smirk, throwing at him a Full Body Bind, which he deflects with a wave of his hand - the left one, not his wand-hand. This is why we've been put with Weasley together against him. The bastard is so powerful that there is no point in an ordinary duel.

Potter casts, and I duck and run and Weasley covers my back. Falling on the floor, I roll over and still, calculating my next movement. I almost regret that I am not a Cat; the smug bastard wouldn't stand a chance. There is a growl behind as something heavy hits the floor. _Fuck,_ he’s done with Weasley, and I am on my own now.

The flash of light explodes silently before my eyes, blinding for several crucial seconds, rendering me disoriented and helpless to resist a force that is flipping me on my back, pressing me into the flagstones. Colourful sparks before my eyes are wearing off, leaving me staring into Potter's eyes behind the glasses. His weight presses my shoulders into the floor, and I am trapped, unable to do anything but blink and stare daggers at him.

"Your wand, Malfoy," he says quietly, but there is this _satisfaction_ in his voice, that familiar subtle note that tells me he could have just stunned me from behind as he has done to Weasley. But _no,_ he just couldn't resist, could he? Not with me. He absolutely _had to_ trap me like this, conscious, to rub his superiority in my face. Would have I done the same if our positions were reversed? Yes, _absolutely._

"You _wish_ ," I hiss, making a show of thrashing under his weight. He shakes his head, only crushing me further down, staring me in the eyes. My distraction works, and this is all I need, this is perfect. I concentrate. _Now._

 _Legilimens,_ I think, staring back at him. His eyes widen in shock and he gasps, and I am falling, diving under the surface without any resistance, his panic swirling around me. Flickering thoughts scatter around, he wants to hide them - he doesn't know how; he never did. I am wild with a vicious elation of revenge.

_I'll fucking tear you apart, Potter._

I grab at the first string of emotion and tug, unravelling it, until everything is laid out in front of me: his rising panic, his shock and fear and the afterthought of _'run-run-hide'_.

_No no no – not so fast, Potter._

I grab at another trail, the one he's desperately trying _not to think about_...

_... I see a man passing on the street, and I turn to look in his wake. He is tall and handsome, he draws my eyes, and no no NO, I must not be that obvious..._

_... Another guy in the Auror uniform smiles at me, and I don't know what to think, does he mean what I think he means? Does he not?.._

_... I am in the Auror Gym showers, trying not to dwell on how water is beating down that tall guy's shoulders, how his neck is straining when he raises his face under water that is washing the soap down the hard plain of his chest; it makes me uncomfortable, it makes me aroused, and I am afraid my body betrays me. It's not that there is something wrong with it, or I am ashamed - I am not. But everything is wrong with getting a boner while having a shower among your fellow trainees, isn't it? The man is blond, and water darkens his hair to dark-gold, which reminds me..._

_... NO, NO, I MUST NOT THINK OF IT, but I am already thinking, and there he is, sitting before me in classes, and I am staring at the back of his bright blond head. He is sitting down at lunch, noticing me staring, giving me a glare, and I avert my eyes. This is ridiculous, I must not notice the bastard like this, and here I am ashamed. Ashamed that he draws my eyes more than any other does, that the sight of his lithe body in a training attire, the way he moves, bother my thoughts more often than is due; that I cannot NOT stare discreetly in the showers at his back rippling with lean muscles under the pale skin, his slender frame is so..._

What the actual fuck?!?!?!!!

As though slapped across the face, I snap out of the delirium of Potter's thoughts with a start.

 _What?_ I mean, _WHAT????_

Feeling the shift in my focus, he tries to wrench free, but I don't let him, catching the trail of a slipping thought...

_... Run - hide - hurry - alone - to where no one finds me, to where I can be my true self, where I am free..._

_... I am running through the woods, among the bushes that are slapping at my sides. It is dark and quiet here as though the Forest holds its breath against whatever beast it is hiding. I am not afraid. I AM the beast. I AM IT. My breath comes out harsh, there is so much strength in my body. I can run like this for hours. My paws are beating the ground in a steady rhythm. There is the clearing before me. The herd of Unicorns in the moonlight is glowing silvery-white, they are turning and tossing their heads at my arrival. They are not afraid, they know I am harmless and have come here only to revel in their light. Slowing my_ _pace, I approach, and some of them are_ _nodding in greeting. There is a sound in the woods, a beastly howl is approaching, and creatures are scattering away into the darkness like a handful of pearls disappearing underwater. I am alone; about to face whatever is to come. It comes and stands there, swaying, its harsh breath loud in silence. It is huge, bigger than I, its dirty-dark fur standing on end above its neck. It is a wolf, but not quite. Not quite to be mistaken for the one by someone who had already encountered a Werewolf in their life. It takes a step towards me, and I step back. A low rumble emanating from the creature turns into a roar, and I am scared out of my mind. It is approaching me, moonlight catching its eyes, and I see they are insane. They are the eyes not of an animal; only a human nature twisted beyond recognition can look like that. Fur at my back stands on end, my fangs are baring, my body follows its instincts. Giving out a harsh growl, I take a step back. I know I am no match for a Werewolf. It had almost cost Sirius his life once; I am not about to find out. I run. Diving into the woods, branches snapping around me, nearly digging my eyes out. I’m running for my life. By the sound of torn shrubs, I know the beast is not far behind. Trees are receding, letting me out of the Forest onto the Hogwarts grounds; I speed up. The moon is shining bright, illuminating the Lake before me, I don't think twice. Running into the water, I swim - forward, further and further, away from the bank, where the creature is howling, pacing the edge, not daring to enter. I have no idea why it doesn’t follow, but I've found my escape..._

"Protego!" Potter shouts, knocking me out of his mind so violently that my head hits the stone floor, making me cry out in pain. I feel his weight shifts off my body as he springs on his feet. Disoriented, I look around. The DADA session among the seventh-years around looks exactly the same, and Weasley's unconscious form is lying a bit farther away. Probably all this has taken us no more than a few seconds.

The look on Potter's face is wild. Horror and fury and disbelief. Turning on his heel, he storms away, leaving me on the floor.

Slowly I rise on my feet. Weakness washing over me, I sway, my heart beating erratically. I think I might faint. Legilimency takes its toll. But most of all, I am shaken with what I've seen.

"Alright, Malfoy?" Professor comes up, frowning. "Why has Potter left?"

"I don't know," I mumble, "I should Ennervate Weasley."

Wincing, the ginger sits up. "Malfoy..." He looks around. "Where's Harry? Has he won?"

"No," I say, turning and leaving the room.

Fucking hell. I need time to process it.

**

Since that day in DADA a week ago, Potter avoids me. After what I'd seen I can't blame him. If he discovered something like that about me, I'd avoid him at all costs, too.

The Dog-part of it... honestly, I should have known; I am not even surprised that much. I feel like at the back of my mind I knew all along. Though he has no idea about me, I suppose, which serves me just fine.

The other part, however... had come as a bit of a shock. It's not even that Potter apparently likes men; it's that he is obviously attracted to _me_ \- is what I've never imagined in my wildest dreams. For I've had them quite a bit about Potter, to say the least.

I don't know about him, but it's not a big secret that I'm gay, though I doubt he knows. I don't deliberately hide the fact or pretend otherwise, but don't rub it in their faces either. If someone doesn't know and eventually finds out - I don't give a fuck.

Now, knowing that Potter has a bit of a _thing_ for me, I don't know what to think. How long? Is this why he behaves the way he does around me? Is this why I do? I notice him _a lot_ , I am aware of the bastard all the time. If it weren't _Potter_ , I think I'd call it a crush. There is this irritation, too, and angry rivalry that grew from the faded mutual hatred. How am I supposed to behave now, when I know his secret? All the fight has gone out of me. It's so embarrassing to be around him, it makes me cringe, makes me want to disappear and never see him again. Just like now, when the three of us share a cauldron at Potions. Since the beginning of the class, I haven't looked even once in his direction. My face is burning, and I can't bring myself to meet his eyes.

"It's freaking hot in here," Weasley says, chopping the asphodel roots, "you're so red in the face, Harry."

Potter clears his throat, and I risk a brief glance at him. His face is crimson up to the hairline. I have no doubt, I look even worse.

"Malfoy... _Malfoy!_ Are you there?" Weasley's voice cuts into my stupor.

"What?" I turn to him, trying not to cringe under Potter's gaze that is no doubt on me now, once I've turned away.

"Pass me the pincers.” He holds his hand out.

Turning to the table, I see the damned pincers near Potter's things across from me and to pick them up I have to lean forward over the table in his direction. So I do, not looking at him, and grab the thing quickly, handing it to Weasley, images of my own bare arse through Potter's eyes in the Aurors Gym showers assaulting my memory all the way. Merlin, I wish this freaking class was over.

**

I don’t sleep tonight. Wilderness welcomes me as I swiftly move through the darkness. There are nights when I don't want to think, to dwell, to have those damned never ceasing dialogues with myself in my head. Tonight is such a night. I want to just _be_. And see the Unicorns. There is something serene, divine about these creatures; something that makes you want to dwell in their luminous presence, to bask in their light, gathering droplets of that magic that makes you feel brand new and purified. Even if Potter is there in his puppy-form. I guess he goes among them for the very same reason that I do. I doubt he'd recognise me or make a connection.

Potter is nowhere to be seen, which is great, because there _are_ Unicorns. All over the clearing, shining even brighter under the full Moon, and for once I'm going to have that light all to myself. Slowly, I  approach on soft paws. The low rumble, the purr is vibrating in me, indicating my delight to see them, telling them that I am a friend. They are turning to me, circling me around, nodding in agreement to let me closer, until I am so close that if I leaned forward just a little, I'd rub my cheek against the shiny silvery side of the mare in front of me. I look up at her, and she steps closer, bending her head, and I lean in, touching my head tentatively to the short slick fur of her neck. This is indescribable, I feel blessed. Closing my eyes, I rub my cheek, again and again, and she lets me, whispering something in my ear - words I cannot fathom but do understand all the same. They are soothing and blissful, and make me feel fulfilled. The purest magic flows through me, and oh I don't know how I would be able to repay. She shakes her head: there is no need, she means. _Take it, take as much as you need, we have plenty, we share._ And I take it, drinking it in, filling my whole being with bliss.

She starts under my touch, jerking her head away. _No, no,_ I want to say - _I am sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you._ Tossing her head, she bolts out and away from me, and I don't understand, what have I done wrong? But it is not just she, the whole herd around me is moving, scattering in all directions, disappearing like pearls underwater... _Like pearls underwater..._

My heart is thudding, and I feel the fur at my back stands on end. _No, not that, not that._ Too late. It is here, right here - a few steps away, and my senses indicate its presence before my eyes or brain do. I hiss, backing off, my ears pressed into my head, my tail lashing out at my sides in reserved panic. A dirty-dark shape moves towards me, eyes insane in the light of the full moon. Swift Unicorns have fled as though have never been here, and I am alone to face the madness of a monster.

Throwing its head back, the Werewolf howls, and I use those seconds to back off further into the shadows. I must flee, run for my life, I am no match for it. The creature pounces, blocking my path, baring its teeth, its rotten breath assaulting my senses. In panic, I bolt out, sinking my claws into its side. The beast roars, thrashing about, trying to reach me with its teeth. I am in that weird state of mind: wild with fear and controlled at the same time. Adrenaline is rushing through me, and vaguely I indicate that perhaps the scared part is a human in me, and I should not listen to it. I sink my fangs into the flesh beneath the fur. With an insane roar, the beast falls onto its side - the one that I am hanging off. Crushing me, killing me. I hear rather than feel as my bones are breaking. I can't breathe, all the air is knocked out of me. Pain finally hits, making me scream and howl and gulp the air. The creature springs on its feet, looming over me, and I am on the ground at its mercy. I am naked and weak and as good as dead, I know, for I am already transforming back against my will. A blow comes, and my shoulder dangles, dislodged or torn out, I don't know. I screaming and pain is blinding, it may tear my eyes out. The beast is aiming its paw again, and I close my eyes, bracing myself to die this instant... Nothing follows, and I hear a growl, a commotion, and there is the feeling of a weight shifting off me, noise scattering to the side. I open my eyes. They don't see as good in the dark now, but I can fathom an outline of a dark shape blending into another as they roll around in a tangle of bodies. The vicious Dog is attacking the Werewolf, aiming for its throat, and all I can do is crawl to the side not to get in the way. If I were a Panther still, surely two on one would have mattered; we could have brought the beast down together. But I am wounded and weak as a baby compared to the two of them. My naked body is all bruised skin and broken bone, it is clumsy and human and useless - rather a burden than a help in the wilderness. Uttering a howl, the Werewolf hits the Dog across the head with its claws. I am shaking. It will kill Potter, and then kill me, and there is nothing I can do. The Dog whimpers, jerking away, turning its back and fleeing into the woods; the Werewolf follows.

I don't know what to do. I am sure, Potter doesn't stand a chance. I try to get on my feet, but the right leg doesn't obey me, and my left arm is dangling useless. Tears run down my face - of shock and pain and despair. I will die here, and nothing can be done. The sounds of fight die down in the distance and silence falls. Resting my head on the ground, I close my eyes. I am so tired. I think I could use a nap. The night air chills my naked skin. Curling into a ball, I succumb to a blissful slumber.

"Malfoy..."

"Malfoy?" A tentative touch on my shoulder. Trying to open my eyes, I fail.

"Malfoy?"

I probably should give a sign that I'm not dead, but there is no strength left in me, and by now I don’t particularly care.

"Fuck... Malfoy..."

With an immense effort of will, I open my eyes. The faint light through the trees indicates that it's probably dawn now. Potter's face comes into view: bloodied and scared, and without his glasses. He's kneeling near me, _naked._

"What?" I say, and it comes out as an inaudible mumble; my throat feels torn to shreds from inside.

He shuffles closer, putting his hand on my shoulder. "Can you sit up?"

"Why?" I croak. Apparently, I've lost my ability to think straight.

"We need to get out of here," he whispers, looking around, and I look up at him. His sharp jaw and that messy mop of hair outlined against the whitening sky. I look down... and find myself staring right into his belly and crotch, _oh fuck._ I am naked, too, and no doubt he's already seen my dick before waking me up.

"Put something on, will you?" I mumble.

"As soon as you fucking get up, and we get out of here. Come on!" Grabbing my hand, he tugs. The left one.I scream in pain, startling myself.

"Oh, fuck..." Potter utters, immediately dropping it, making me cry out again. “Sorry..."

"My shoulder," I croak, sitting up, "It's broken, I think... and my leg, the other one... I mean the right one."

"Fucking hell," Potter utters, peering closely, and nausea rises in me at the sight of his neck: torn open and black with caked blood, from the ear all the way down to the collarbone.

"Did it... bite you?" I whisper, horrified... Because if yes, if it did... Potter is as good as a Werewolf right now. _Fuck._

"No... it's..." He reaches for his neck and I cringe, I actually may vomit. "It's hit me with its claws... several times. It was aiming to bite, I didn't let it."

"Oh..." I don't find what to say. I have no idea how did Potter manage to survive and fight the beast off.

"You can't walk?" He asks, and I shake my head.

"Fuck, Malfoy... who would have thought it was you, that freaking cat?"

"Shut up, _puppy_... how do we get out of here?"

Standing up, Potter doesn't reply. Stark naked in front of me, he seems totally unruffled. Breathing deeply several times, he raises his hand. A silver sphere is forming at his fingertips, blooming bright, growing larger, until the Stag erupts, pouncing into the woods and disappearing from view.

**

"Gentlemen." Pomfrey shakes her head. She is standing between the two of us in the hospital beds, bandaged and tucked in up to our eyes. I can't even turn my head to look in his direction, and neither does he, I assume. I am aware of him near me all the same.

After Potter had sent his Patronus (the freaking Patronus! I have no idea how had he managed to conjure the essence of happiness, in the middle of all the shit that was going on, torn to shreds by a Werewolf - but he did), Pomfrey arrived with McGonnagal. By that time I had almost passed out again, coming to my senses to being wrapped in a sheet. Potter was kneeling beside me, his brow furrowed in concentration, waving his hand. The fabric was wrapping itself around my lower body to be fixed at the waist. Potter was already wearing the same attire. I have to grant him that, he’d proved himself to be _not that dumb_ and transfigured sheets out of some forest stuff to cover our nakedness, so we wouldn't parade our dicks in front of McGonnagal.

I've been levitated all the way to the hospital wing, and Potter had come on foot. In the morning light he looked a fright with his neck torn and covered with gore.

So here we are. Having received the treatment and been attacked by the multiple questions as to how had we ended up naked in the Forest at dawn. This particular detail, however, neither I nor Potter are eager to share. It's not their fucking business to know about me being an Animagus.

We just shrug and avoid the questions, so I don't know what they've assumed, but it earned us curious looks. We are to stay here for a while.

"Harry, bloody hell!" Weasley barges in.

I close my eyes, pretending to be asleep. Let Potter deal with it.

**

"Malfoy... _Malfoy!_ " Potter whispers loudly, "are you asleep?"

 _"Yes, I am asleep,_ Potter," I hiss, turning my head to him. It's actually all I can move right now without dying of pain. It's the middle of the night, and we've spend the whole day here. After the shock had worn off, exhaustion came, and though Pomfrey fussed over us, asking questions, I doubt I remember a half of it. They told us that unless the Werewolf had bit us with its teeth, we are in no danger of being turned. Which is a relief, because this is the thought I couldn't get rid of.

Potter's position in his bed a few feet away mirrors mine. He is lying on his back, with his neck bandaged up to the ears.

"Sorry, I just thought..."

"Merlin, Potter, do you ever shut up?" I roll my eyes.

"No need to be rude," he says irritably, "I had actually saved your life."

"And it gives you the right to keep me up?" I say without a bite, he's right, and... "Okay, I'm sorry." I sigh. "I feel like shit. And thank you, okay?"

"Er... okay..." He says, "how long have you been an Animagus?"

"Do keep your voice down!" I hiss. Honestly, I'm trying to be polite; the prat doesn't let me. "Do you want everyone to know? Honestly, Potter."

"Oh, okay, sorry..." He whispers, "so? How long?"

"About two months. You?"

 _"Two months??!_ I've known like... more than a year, I think."

Oh, _of course,_ he's outdone me even in this.

I roll my eyes. "Congratulations, O Mighty One."

"I didn't mean it like that."

"Like what?"

"Like showing off," he whispers.

"Okay, good. I mean, no offence, but I'm really tired, Potter. So just keep quiet while I'm trying to sleep, would you?"

"Okay."

He says no more. I lie awake, listening to his quiet breathing in the silent room. The hospital wing is empty, save for the two of us. The bright moonlight is streaming from the window, it reminds me of what had happened in the Forest. Where had the beast come from? Is it someone from Hogsmeade, having skipped taking their Wolfsbane? Is it someone from Hogwarts? I shiver. Is it someone I know and see every day? Does Potter know who it is?

I turn my head to look at him. In the moonlight I see his face clearly. Without glasses he looks... naked? Younger? Vulnerable? The thought strikes me as weird, whatever I may think of Potter - _vulnerable_ is not one of those things. He is anything but. He's taken a Werewolf on, for fuck's sake. From this angle his features look softer than usual - or maybe it's just his eyes are closed, their piercing brightness concealed. Leaning forward, I observe his face. As I said, this is a kind of face that makes you want to stare; and how on earth do I ever get the chance?

Surprising myself, I sit up in the bed. My body obeys me, and I feel no pain. Getting out of the bed, I approach and kneel down before his sleeping form. He is breathing evenly, and the thought strikes me: how could he have fallen asleep in my presence like this? His black eyebrows are standing out in the contrast to the pale face; I want to touch them, to trace them with my fingertip, finding out whether they are as silky to the touch as they seem to be. So I do. Reaching out with my hand, I touch the one, and the other. I trace my fingers along his jaw, feeling a faint scratch of a stubble. Turning his head to the side, he sighs in his sleep, and my fingers touch his lips. They are full and soft, and _oh my God_ what am I doing, tracing them, revelling in the touch? There is this little smile tugging at his lips, just barely there in the corners, but I know he is awake and pretends to be asleep so that I would touch him. Leaning down, I stop, barely a breath away from his lips. Opening his eyes, he grins widely. A red spark flickers in his pupils, or I am imagining things? I don't know. In this light you can never tell. Leaning up, he captures my lips with a growl, and I feel as something sharp digs into my lower back. It's his hand, I know, but not _quite..._ I lean back to look at him. His face is shifting. I see a glimpse of the Dog which melts into his face again and back, again and again on loop.

"Potter, what are you doing?" I say, just to fill the silence, because I am suddenly scared, and my heart is racing, and chill is spreading down my limbs.

Tightening his grip on my back, he smiles, or rather bares his teeth. They are sharp and long, canines standing out. I wrench in his arms, in vain. Opening his mouth, he begins to speak, but only animal roar comes out. Black fur of his forehead is fading into a dirty-silvery-grey. Those eyes that I find piercing turn insane, and there is nothing of their jade-green left. They are red; _red_ as blood that is dripping out of the corner of his mouth. Bolting out of his grip, I scream at the top of my lungs. I run to the door, but it is suddenly _not there_ , there is nothing but a bare stone wall where the door has once been. The beast is right behind me, breathing into my nape, pressing me into the wall. Feeling the touch of its teeth at my skin, I kick with all my might. But it grips me by the shoulders, turning me around, aiming for my throat. I scream and kick and thrash about, turning my face away...

"Malfoy... Malfoy... shhh... it's okay..."

I still and turn to look at it. He is gripping me by the shoulders, circling my skin with his thumbs through my pyjamas. It is Potter, totally normal, and his face isn't furry. His neck is bandaged up to the ears, and he's put his glasses on. I am lying in my bed, staring up at him, and it already looks like dawn.

"Okay?" He asks, releasing my shoulders, "it's just a nightmare."

Unable to utter a word, I stare up at him.

"Do you need a glass of water or something?" He asks, standing up.

"Nno... no," I croak, looking around. A nightmare. Okay. "I'm fine, sorry to bother."

"Right." He nods, backing off, and sit down on his bed. "You woken me up, screaming."

"I see..."

"Last night?" He asks, lying down under the blanket.

"Yeah... I suppose."

"I've... sort of... been dreaming about something like that, too," he says, watching me warily.

We lie in silence, neither of us falling asleep until morning.

**

Waking up again, I am astonished to discover that my body doesn’t ache all over. The horror of the nightmare has faded along the early hours of the morning, leaving only a faint aftershock. Pomfrey is rearranging the vials on my bedside table, and Potter's bed is empty.

"Good morning, Malfoy." She waves her wand, and I see a purple aura appearing around me.

"Good to see your leg and shoulder are mending. However, it will require a couple of days to restore you fully back to normal."

"A couple of days in bed?" I ask, "is Potter allowed to get up already?"

"You are not _forbidden_ to get up, Malfoy." She thrusts a vial under my nose, urging me to take it. "You wouldn't be able to, even if you tried."

I down the contents of the vial and cringe. Why a medicine should taste so fucking disgusting?

"Potter is in the shower." She nods in the direction of the far wall with a narrow door in it. "He is able to get there on his own."

Merlin, this is humiliating. Now I realise that my bladder is full, and how am I supposed to deal with it?

"Do you need a bathroom right now?" Apparently, the woman reads my thoughts.

"Yes." I glare at her.

She waves her wand at me several times, and miraculously I no longer need the loo. What a relief.

"I will write the spell down for you, so you’ll be able to do it on your own," she says, gathering the empty vials, "breakfast is in a half an hour."

Potter emerges from the bathroom only in his striped pyjama bottoms. His wet hair is combed back from his forehead, revealing the famous _Scar_ above his right eyebrow.

"Hi," he says, taking the glasses from his bedside table.

"Hi." I can't help myself but gape, because the wound on his neck is without dressing now, and I'd rather not look at it, but I am staring all the same. It is huge and ugly, and obvious where the beast's paw left its trace - from the ear all the way down to the collarbone.

"Now, sit down, Potter, I have to take a look," Pomfrey says, drawing her wand.

Potter obeys, sitting down on the bed, facing me.

A spell shines in the air and he winces.

"It may hurt," Pomfrey says.

Apparently it hurts fucking _a lot_ , because Potter's face crumples. He bites his lip. _Oh for fuck's sake._

"Scream, Potter, if you feel like it," I say irritably, "don't mind me."

Potter nods but keeps silent as Pomfrey traces the wound with a spell. With a hiss he grips the headboard but otherwise remains silent. And I feel for the prat, I really do. I don't know whether it's my presence or he’s unable to let go altogether. I turn my face away.

"All right, Potter," Pomfrey says finally, "it goes better than I expected." I hear the sound of fabric being cut, as she shuffles around.

"There you are, you may dress," she says, and I finally turn my head to look.

Potter is bandaged again from his shoulder to the ear, putting his pyjama top on. At least he is not confined to the bed, unable to visit the loo. Lucky devil.

**

"So... about the other day," Potter says not looking at me, once we've sat down for breakfast. I am propped in the pillows against the headboard and can't move my left arm.

"About what?" I ask, trying to butter my toast using only one hand. I do know what he refers to, but I can't reply _'Yeah, about that time I saw in your mind you fancy my arse,'_ can I?

"About what you'd seen through Legilimency."

"What about it?"

Honestly, why is he bringing it up? If I feel embarrassed out of my mind just thinking about it, what it may cost him?

"Look... it's not how it looked."

"How it looked?" I repeat, mainly because what the fuck am I supposed to say to that?

Potter sighs. "It probably looked like I fancy you or something."

Does he not? I feel a bit offended, to be honest. I gathered exactly _that_ from his thoughts.

"And you don’t?" I ask around a mouthful of toast, trying to sound indifferent.

"I don’t." He shakes his head.

"Then why... it looked how it looked?"

"I don't know... maybe..." he says lamely, looking up at me, "actually... why don’t you freak out?"

"Why should I?" I shrug. "I’m perfectly aware how hot I am." I wiggle my eyebrows at him. "I'm not surprised."

Potter barks with laughter. "No, I mean... like... are you gay? I mean... you’re okay that a guy fancies you."

"I am." I shrug, sipping my coffee.

"You are?!" Potter gapes.

"Yes, actually it's not a secret."

"Oh."

By his look I assume it's a surprise for him.

"Can't say the same about you." I smirk.

Potter glares, not finding what to say, and then shakes his head. "You don't know me, Malfoy, don't make assumptions."

I have no idea what's that supposed to mean, but don't ask.

**

We've been here for three days, and I am recovering really quickly. Since this morning I am able to walk and manage my left arm. Overall it's not that bad, even considering it's Potter's company I am stuck here in. He's not as annoying as I thought him to be. I imagined he never shuts up, or that he is noisy and messy and unbearable to share a living space with, and would drive me mad. I am surprised it is not the case, well... _almost._

"A Panther, Malfoy, really? A _Black_ Panther. Why?" He asks, apparently for nothing better to say. He absolutely cannot keep his mouth shut when he isn’t occupied. We are sitting in our beds: Potter doing nothing, and I am trying to read to up with my studies. And here I’ve been thinking he’s not _that_ bad.

I roll my eyes. "Why not a goat, Potter?"

"What?"

"Why don’t you turn into a goat, like your Patronus?"

"My Patronus is not a _goat!_ " He says, scandalised, and I find his outrage hilarious. "It's a Stag!"

"I don't see much difference." I shrug. "Dumb pretentious horned animal."

"It's..." He pauses. " _Arghh..._ you're a dick, Malfoy."

"And you are very smart and eloquent."

"Oh, fuck off!" He says a tad too loudly in the quiet room.

"Potter?" Pomfrey stops in the doorway. "Language."

"Sorry."

Even his ears turn crimson. Not looking at Pomfrey, he lies down, tugging the blanket over his head.

Shaking with laughter, I lie down, too, facing him.

" _Fuck off_ , Malfoy," he whispers dramatically from under the blanket and turns his back to me. I am dismissed.

After that Potter keeps mostly to himself. He actually _is_ talkative, just not with me. Because when Weasley visits they don't shut up for hours, laughing like loons, making faces at each other, and this is all I can do not to roll my eyes.

I am a bit envious, I must admit. I've never shared this kind of friendship with anyone. Probably it's a Gryffindor thing which I am not capable of. I mean, I had friends at Hogwarts, sure. But what we had - was never _this._ This unabashed joy in each other's company, this openness and simplicity, when there is no need in second-guessing, where there is no place for backhanded compliments or biting remarks that always keep you on your guard. All those things are so vexing, and now I realise that all I wanted and never had - was simple human contact, some visceral awareness of being in the presence of _'your'_ person with whom you can relax and be yourself. I never had that, I guess I don't know how it's done.

"Malfoy!"

"What?" I look up from the book on my lap I've been staring at for some fifteen minutes, listening to Potter and Weasley's rumblings.

"Do you play chess?" Weasley asks eagerly.

"Er... yes?"

"Great! Let's do it, come on." Weasley rummages in his satchel, retrieving a small box.

"Weasley..." I don't know why I protest. I am bored out of my mind, and a game of chess wouldn’t be a bad idea at all. "Why me? Ask Potter."

"Oh, Harry is useless in chess." Unshrinking the box, Weasley approaches my bed.

"I'm not useless in chess." Potter says. He is sitting in his bed with his legs crossed, eating a treacle tart that Weasley had brought him and enjoying it shamelessly.

"I just don't care for a game when there are more enjoyable things to do." He nods at his plate. I stare as he sucks at his fingertips, one by one.

"Want some, Malfoy?"

_Merlin, what?.._

"No, thanks." I avert my eyes. I want _some_ alright, but I don't care for the treacle tart.

"Come on, Weasley, let's do it," I say, and he sits down at the edge of my bed, arranging the chessboard.

We start the game, and I try not to mind Potter at the edge of my vision. Having finished his treacle tart, he moved closer, sitting down on the floor by my bedside. He passes remarks and Weasley laughs, and I try not to notice the prat's dark head propped on his chin at the edge of my bed right next to my hand. We spend about two hours like this, which is crazy, but here I am.

"Does Weasley know?" I ask Potter after the ginger has left.

"Know what?" He asks with his back to me.

"About you."

"No, he doesn't."

"W _hat_ doesn’t he know?" I laugh. I've deliberately put it like this, just to see what he may assume; rules don't apply to Potter. "That you are an Animagus, or that you're gay?"

"Both." He says not turning to me.

"Why?"

"I think... I'm not ready to share it just yet."

"Even with your best friend?"

I am surprised, to say the least. Actually, I thought he and Weasley don't have any personal space or boundaries between them.

"Even with him, yes. I don't want to explain myself, and... it’s not like I owe him anything in that regard... I mean... like, I don’t _have to_ make a statement as to whom I'm attracted to, do I?"

He's right. Potter is sitting at his bed with his back to me. He avoids meeting my eyes, and I am okay with it. I never felt comfortable having those conversations either.

"And the Animagus thing," he continues, "I don't know... it's sort of... too personal, and I'd like to have it to myself."

"But doesn't Weasley notice you disappear at night?"

"We don't live together, so no, I don't think he does," Potter says.

"What did you tell him about the forest?" I ask.

"Oh, nothing... just that I was wandering the grounds and heard you screaming in the woods, being attacked by a Werewolf."

I roll my eyes. "Brilliant, Potter."

"What? What should I have told him?"

"I don't know... something not featuring me as a weakling?"

"Do you care that much what Ron thinks?"

"No... forget it." I fume.

Here I am, having discovered two Potter's darkest secrets, and... It suddenly strikes me how alike we are, how I appear to be the only person right now who understands him completely, knowing his truest nature as if it were my own, becaue I am exactly the same.

"It's not like I don't trust Ron, because I do," he says, "I trust him with my life. But it's not a question of _trust,_ it's... the thing about me, _my thing_ , it doesn’t depend on anyone knowing or not knowing – it’s _mine_ \- and I don't want to share."

I never imagined Potter to be insightful. I am astonished and... something else - the thought of being allowed (if involuntary) near Potter's true self, strangely warms me, making me feel content.

"You know, I... I feel the same about it - the Animagus thing, I mean."

At that Potter looks at me over his shoulder.

"What?" At once I am defensive.

"Nothing." Potter turns to fully face me. "Go on." There’s this curious look on his face.

"I just... yeah, it's personal, I agree," I say, all my clever thoughts evaporating for some reason, "It's like... people think that being able to transform is cool - and it is, but it's not what I meant. I myself thought about it differently, until I'd come to know better. What I mean is..."

 _Oh Merlin_ , why is it so difficult to say what I am trying to, what I feel? I've never suffered from the lack of words, but Potter makes me stammer, turning me into a bumbling idiot. Talking about those things with Potter of all people is the weirdest thing. There’s this awkwardness, impossible to overcome, our baggage from the past, and also recent embarrassment: this _thing_ I’d discovered in Potter's mind. And, of course, my own _thing_ that, albeit unknown to him, is undoubtedly there - the fact that his presence makes the air electric, makes my nerves frayed and my composure stretched thin.

"What I mean, is - I don't know how to put it better - but for me this Animagus self, this _Animal_ in me is powerful, but its essence is vulnerable. And it must be protected from prying eyes, from other people. Because it is a vital part of me, and I don't want to expose it. If they knew, they'd try to control it."

Potter stares at me.

Have I said something wrong?

"What, Potter?"

"Nothing... I mean, yeah... this is sort of crazy, that you of all people understand perfectly the way I feel." He shrugs. "This is it, how you put it. I agree."

"Okay, good..." I don't know what to say, and embarrassment stretches between us.

Not looking at each other, we sit in silence for a few minutes. When the door opens, letting Pomfrey in, I guess Potter exhales in relief. I’m glad she came, too.

**

"Make sure you visit me for a check in tomorrow," Pomfrey says, and Potter nods. After a week of recovery, he is released tonight and I stay.

"So, see you around," he says, looking at his feet, and I realise he is addressing me.

"Okay, see you, Potter." What one is supposed to say to that?

"Okay, I'll go. Hope you'll recover soon." He heads to the door, and I look at his back. Probably I am supposed to say "Thank you" or some such, but the door already closes behind him. Okay, I exhale. Finally I'll have some peace and quiet.

As it turns out, I don't care for peace and quiet as much as I used to think. The next day I stare out of the window, I pace the room, I try to read. Pomfrey comes and goes several times, and meals arrive according to the schedule. I am bored and lonely and bitter, and I actually miss the prat. Well, almost, I think, _almost._ Most certainly it's not _him_ I miss, just having someone around, I suppose.

"Hey Malfoy!" Weasley says from the door, and I jump, nearly falling off the windowsill. Weasley is in the doorway with a chessboard tucked under his arm. And there is absolutely no reason for my heart to speed up, _not at all,_ for it’s only Potter’s dark head lurking behind his ginger friend, nothing out of the ordinary.

"Weasley," I say, sliding off the windowsill, "to what do I owe?"

Weasley walks into the room and Potter finally steps from behind his back.

"Hi, Malfoy," he says, "we just dropped by to see how you're doing. Ron wanted to play chess with you."

At that Weasley shoots him a weird look. "Do you mind?" He asks.

"No... come in." I don't mind at all. I am anxious and embarrassed and feel untidy in my pyjamas in front of Potter who is fully dressed, and my heart is racing, but I don't mind.

"Potter, here you are," Pomfrey says from the door, "come, I'll take a quick look at you."

"So," Weasley says, as soon as the door behind Potter clicks shut, "what had happened in the Forest?"

Here we go. Actually, I expected this. Weasley by far is not as simple as Potter may think.

"What had happened in the Forest?" I repeat.

"Yes. What had really happened? Not that rubbish Harry had told me."

"What had he told you?" I'm not ruffled by his questions, I don't owe him anything. I'm rather curious what exactly had Potter told him about me.

"Oh." Weasley rolls his eyes. "That he decided to take a walk in the moonlight, yeah? In the Forest, of all places. And found you getting devoured by a Werewolf and dashed to the rescue."

I nod. "Basically that's how it went."

"Oh really? Maybe you didn't know, but Harry is a pathetic liar, so I can tell - what he keeps telling me is not how it went."

"He's not lying, Weasley."

"Oh really?" His look is something between taken aback and suspicious. There’s absolutely no reason for me to lie in Potter’s favour, right? So he thinks. In his place I’d be baffled alright, too.

"Not entirely."

"So _what_ is he lying about and why?"

"Why do you ask _me_? Ask Potter."

"Because you were there. You've just admitted he isn't telling everything, for fuck's sake!"

"You know, I'm not obligated to tell you anything about myself. And his thing is not mine to tell. So if you want to know about Potter - ask him, you are his best friend, for fuck's sake!"

With a frustrated sound, Weasley stands up. We glare at each other. No doubt our game of chess is over. I have a feeling that the fact that Potter has something personal he doesn't want to share but what I somehow get to know about, is what narks Weasley off the most.

"What's up, guys?" Potter says from the door. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," Weasley says at the same time as I say: "Ask him."

Potter looks between the two of us.

"I'll go." Grabbing the chessboard, Weasley stuffs the figures in.

"Ron? What's the matter?" Potter frowns. "What did you say to him, Malfoy?"

"I?" I laugh. "I said _nothing_ , Potter, and that's the thing." I give him a look. "And now he stomps his feet. Would you guys kindly fuck off and sort out things between you two without dragging me into this?"

Weasley slams the door behind him.

His expression stony, Potter looks at me, then at the door.

"I mean it, Potter, it's your business. I have nothing to do with it. He's _your_ friend, I don't owe him anything."

"Fine," Potter spits and heads to the door.

**

I am released in two days, fully recovered and good. As turns out, Potter ignores me completely. Fine. Although I'm a bit... I don't know... but _okay, fine, good._ We've never been friendly with Potter before, it's not like I've lost that much.

However I notice, that they don't speak with Weasley either. I shouldn't give a fuck and I don't.

Overall I'm fine, I suppose, but something is missing; or rather something is there, it feels like a weight upon me that hasn't been there before. The weight that dims all the colours, preventing me from breathing fully. It's due to stress, Pomfrey had told me. Encounter with a Werewolf may have caused some kind of a mental trauma; she’d said it's temporary and would eventually wear off. Anyway, it doesn't bother me as much as she possibly thinks, because I know the cure for whatever may ail me. I haven't transformed since that damned night in the Forest, and for the past several days since my release from the hospital wing I didn't have much energy to try either. But I have plans for tonight. I'm not going to take a risk and wander around, I can’t bring myself to set a foot in the Forest right now. My room will do. Thankfully, I, Potter and Weasley, being adults, are granted single bedrooms this time. I plan to transform and sleep like that for a while. It will undoubtedly give me much needed strength and lift my mood, chasing away all possible remnants of mental trauma. It always did, ever since I'd discovered the Animal in me.

Something bumps into my temple, snapping me out of my reverie, and I am suddenly aware I've been staring at the back of Potter's head for quite a while. He is sitting ahead of me in class, and Weasley is somewhere behind. The thing drops at the desk in front of me, and I see it is a tiny paper bird, already unfolding into a piece of paper, revealing the note inside.

_"We need to talk. The vacant classroom down the corridor, after this class._

_H.P."_

I look up at the bastard's unruly head. He is taking notes after the teacher, as though he hasn't sent me a fucking paper bird a minute ago. Maybe it’s a joke? Maybe someone's taking the piss, and Potter has nothing to do with it? He doesn't speak to me. Okay, the only way to find out, but do I give a fuck? I may ignore the note and just leave for lunch after the class straight away, and whoever has sent this to me may just fuck off.

I haven't left for lunch, and Potter hasn't fucked off, for when I enter the classroom, he is sitting on the teacher’s desk, dangling his feet.

"Hi, Malfoy." He slides off the desk. "I thought you wouldn't come."

"I thought that, too. What do you want?"

"Look..." Crossing his arms at his chest, Potter approaches. "I just wanted to ask you something... can you transform?"

"Of course I can, what do you mean?"

"Really?" He frowns.

"What do you mean, _'really'_?"

"I mean... have you tried to do it since the incident in the Forest, have you succeeded in the last few days?"

"I... actually, I haven't, but... of course I can do it anytime I want, why do you ask?"

"Because I've tried, I've been trying for a while, and I can't," Potter says, searching my face, "ever since I'd been released from the hospital wing. It doesn't work. I don't know... something prevents me."

"What?" Fucking hell... Surely I'll transform whenever I like, will I?

"Yeah... actually, I wanted to talk to you about it when we visited you with Ron, remember? But... you know how it went. Since then I try in vain, every night."

"I haven't tried yet, but I see no reason why wouldn't I succeed, Potter," I say, chills in my stomach, "I'm going to do it tonight."

"Oh, okay. Would you... would you tell me tomorrow then?"

"Are we on speaking terms again, Potter?" I cross my arms to mirror his posture.

"Er..  yes... why?"

"You tell me. As far as I remember, recently you've been completely unaware of my existence," I say icily, turning away from him.

"Er... sorry, it's been... yeah, stupid, but... sort of... I..."

"You mean, you've been sort of a dick, taking out on me your misunderstanding with Weasley?"

"I think, yeah... sort of... look, I'm sorry, Malfoy."

I roll my eyes. "Whatever, Potter. I have to go; I'd like to have some lunch."

"Okay, see you around," Potter says as for I walk through the door. I don't reply. He's a bastard, and I should know better than make amends with him so easily. But something in me lets go, and I feel like smiling, which I absolutely don't do, striding down the corridor; _absolutely not._

**

Coloured bubbles are popping around me, as I relax in a hot bath. The air is scented and humid and heavy; I should probably get out. My mind drifts, and my limbs are so lazy, I doubt I am able to move my little finger.

A little bit more, and I’ll probably fall asleep right here, in the cooling water. This is a perfect state of mind for transformation. Getting up, I step out of the bath. Taking the towel from the hook, I wipe myself lazily in front of the mirror. No need to dress before transformation. Towelling my hair dry, I look at my reflection. I am so... _white_. White all over. Even my eyes are almost white. Why the Black Panther is my Animagus form, my essence? I have no idea. At least Potter's Animal suits him, and is sort of... predictable? I'd say.

Okay, I put the towel down. I want to do it in front of the mirror, to look my Cat in the eyes and see hunger that had been eating at me finally sated, once it becomes me, and I become it, and we are one.

Closing my eyes, I concentrate, feeling that _pull_ already tugging at me, making me melt and dissolve, and drown. I let go, revelling in the sensation, letting my mind drift. Who says that transformation is painful? I don't know, for me it is bliss. This reaching for your very core, until your true self comes out, taking over, changing your whole being, but staying utterly you and the same. I let out a purr, but something slips, and I feel as though stumbling, tripping across a smooth path. I open my eyes and my heart flips. _Nothing._ Nothing has changed. Here I am: a human, as white and naked as before. No, it’s a mistake. I concentrate again, closing my eyes, trying to let go; but this chill is gripping me already, this fear of failure again, the dread that Potter is right, that I am not able to do this anymore. Fear never did me good, never. The Werewolf nearly killed me because my body transformed back against my will out of fear. I open my eyes. Nothing. Frustrated, I sit down on the cold tiles. Fuck. Now what? Fine. I'll take a rest; I must sleep and try again. I’ll fix it tomorrow.

**

It's not alright. It's not alright at all. In the morning I try again and again. Nothing. Dread comes over me at the thought that probably I'd been bitten by the Werewolf and don't remember it. This is what is preventing me from transformation: I am turning into a beast of a different nature. The one that I don't have control over, the one that will twist me beyond recognition when the time comes, and make my mind go insane. I want to hide and protect myself and cry in panic. It is too long till the Full Moon, how am I supposed to wait it out, not knowing what awaits me? _Fuck_. I'll go to Pomfrey, I'll go to St.Mungo's. They have to know what to do, they have to.

Potter... Fucking hell, there is Potter wandering around, diseased with this very _thing._ I have to tell him. I'll tell him at breakfast. No. I can't approach him openly, confirming Weasley's suspicions that we are up to something. I’ll send him an owl.

Potter looks up from the note in his hand. He is sitting across from me, a bit further down the table. Weasley is at the far end, barely visible among the others. They haven't made it up.

_"We need to talk. Follow me to the Potions classroom in five minutes._

_D.M."_ The note says.

Taking my satchel, I stand up and exit the Great hall under Potter's gaze. My morning hysteria has calmed down a bit, and now I try to think logically. Even if I'd been bitten, which I doubt, if I think of it, there are ways and means of dealing with this _thing_. There are hundreds of people with that condition, taking prescribed medications and suppressants, living happy healthy lives.

My footsteps are loud against the flagstones as I approach the Potions classroom. It is empty, even professor Higgins is currently at breakfast. The clock indicates a quarter past eight. I sit down at the desk we are assigned to with Potter and Weasley and wait.

In five minutes Potter strides in.

"What, Malfoy?" He takes his seat.

"I can't transform," I begin without preamble. The sooner I get this out of the way, the better. "I've been thinking, Potter... we both lost our ability after Werewolf’s attack. What if... what if we'd been bitten? We may not remember. This is why we are no longer able to do it. It blocks us."

Potter's eyes go wide, but he has this look on his face - the one not of a surprise, but of recognition. My heart sinks. I realise I've somehow been counting on Potter to persuade me otherwise, to confirm I'm mistaken, chasing my fears away. And now, seeing his scared face, despair comes over me in its finality. We are both doomed.

"Fuck," he says quietly, looking down at his hands, "I thought as much."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Actually, you didn't want to listen." He looks up. "You all but dismissed me yesterday, as though it would never concern you."

He's right. Yesterday I didn't pay his words much thought. If anything, I was sure this is solely Potter's personal problem that has nothing to do with me.

"What are we going to do?" I ask. Fuck, I don't want to deal with it, I need someone to be in charge and tell me what to do.

"St. Mungo's," Potter says, "but in that case we'll have to tell them everything, the Animagus thing including."

"Do we have a choice?" Honestly, right now I'm not even that concerned with not being able to transform. All I want is them to tell me for sure that _I’m not turning into a Werewolf._

"No, we don't." Potter looks at me. "We should probably skip the classes and go right now."

"Right," I say, standing up, "let's go now, before anyone arrives."

Potter follows me to the door when it opens, letting Weasley in.

"Hi, Ron," Potter utters, and I want to slam my head into the wall.

"Where are you going?" Weasley glances between us.

"We have to leave, I'll tell you later." Potter steps towards the door around Weasley who gives me a murderous look. I don't give a fuck right now. Not saying a word, I exit and Potter follows.

**

"This is not the case, gentlemen, nothing to worry about," the Healer says, and I am weak with relief.

They took our blood samples to identify if there were any traces of the Werewolf aura. It was no big deal in St. Mungo's. We didn't even have to tell them the whole story, just mention the Werewolf attack. We exchange relieved glances with Potter, at how easy it has turned out.

No such luck. They’ve found out all the same, analysing our blood samples. "However, something else has been discovered that should absolutely be addressed. Your blood contains the elements of another kind of animal magic, which gives me the reason to assume we have got an Animagi case here, gentlemen."

_Fuck. Fucking fuck._

"Having compared it to all the signatures of the registered Animagi in the UK in our database, whose blood samples are being collected and kept here, I conclude we have got an unregistered Animagi case. It is my duty to inform authorities, whose duty is to contact you and perform the registration."

Here we go.

"Yes, of course," Potter says, and I can't believe my own ears. Actually, I expect him to resist and pull off some mad plan of escape. I stare at him.

"What?" He says as soon as the Healer is off, leaving us standing in the corridor.

"Are you serious? Do you plan to get registered right now, just like that?" I whisper, glancing around.

"Well, it wasn't planned, but what can I do?" He shrugs. "Jump out of the window?"

"Yes?"

"What?" He gives a bewildered laugh.

"What? This is what you _do_ , Potter, isn't it?"

"Well, you are free to jump, if you feel like it." He gestures towards the window behind him.

I roll my eyes. "I mean... this is ridiculous. They can't just _make_ us register, if we don't cooperate."

"Actually, they _can_ , Malfoy. Where have you been, we'd learned it already."

"They do?" I feel myself retarded, and I always took pride in my academic skills, compared to Potter.

"Yes. Animagi registration is obligatory, and you can be charged for avoiding it."

I want to slap myself in the face.

"I'm really not happy about it, Malfoy, but they already know, so unless we want to be charged, there is nothing left to us but register."

Honestly, since when Potter is so level-headed and logical? It’s not his job to be a voice of sanity; when had it even happened that I didn’t notice?

"All right, gentlemen?" The same Healer approaches with another wizard in civil robes. "Now follow us, please."

There's nothing left to us but obey. Sulking, we do as we are told.

**

Though relieved that lycanthropy is out of the way, I return to Hogwarts utterly pissed off with the whole registration business. We can't transform anyway, so does it even count to be considered Animagi and registered as such?

However, they haven't provided us with an answer in St. Mungo's, as to why exactly we can't transform, apart from the assumption that probably it may have something to do with a mental stress caused by the encounter with a Werewolf which affects our magic, blocking us from transformation.

Anyway, I'm going to take a bath and try again. There’s a chance to succeed when I am calm and rested. As I am getting rid of my tie in front of the mirror, a knock on my door catches me mid-movement.

"Come in!" I say irritably. I don't want to deal with people right now

"Malfoy..." Potter stands awkwardly in the doorway, not releasing the door handle. "May I come in?"

"Yes, you _may_ , Potter," I snap, throwing the tie at the back of the chair, and beginning to unbutton my shirt. "Close the door, will you?"

Stepping into the room, he does

"Er... are you skipping classes?" He asks, eyeing me up and down.

I undo my shirt. "Yes. What do you want?"

"I've been meaning to ask... I'm going to tell Ron. Since it's already sort of a common knowledge. May I tell about you as well?"

"Why would you need to tell him about me?" I am surprised, that Potter asks at all. As far as I think I know him, he doesn't have any understanding of a personal space or people's boundaries.

"How else am I supposed to tell him about the Forest? Do I need to invent something on your part, in case you don't want him to know, or can I tell him everything that had happened?"

Actually, after that damned registration procedure that had taken all morning, I don't particularly care for Weasley knowing.

"Suit yourself." I shrug. "Tell him if you need to." Taking my shirt off, I hang it over the back of the chair.

"Oh okay... fine. I'll... I'll go." Staring at my chest, Potter backs off to the door. "See you, Malfoy." The door slams shut.

I turn to the mirror. White scars across my chest and torso are whiter than my own skin. I got so used to them that I mostly don't notice them. But Potter, undoubtedly, has noticed. I feel a pang of something. Well, it's good their sight makes him uncomfortable. To this day he's never outright acknowledged the Sectumsempra incident and the fact that he nearly killed me.

**

Sitting down at the breakfast table next morning, I see Potter and Weasley enter the Great Hall together, discussing something with their heads close. Reconciliation. _What a delight._

Sitting down, Potter nods at me and Weasley doesn't, though he throws me a curious look. What would have been a look on his face if he knew Potter is gay and fantasised about _me_ , I wonder?

My last attempt at transforming proved futile. I took a bath and relaxed and even wanked to the images of Potter's arse in the Aurors Gym showers. I am not even ashamed. If the bastard allows himself to have fantasies about me, I may as well do the same. However, all this proved ineffective. When I tried to drift and dissolve, nothing happened. I couldn't even achieve that mental state required for transformation, as though an invisible barrier blocking me out. Probably my room is a wrong environment for such things and it would go better in the wilderness. No. I am fucked if I set a foot in the Forest at night.

I glance at Potter who is absorbed in buttering his toast, while Weasley says something into his ear. To be honest, I am envious of how easy it is between them: this simple closeness. Yesterday they weren't on speaking terms, and look at them now. This is a kind of a relationship I've never had in my life, and always wanted to have, not knowing how. I guess it is nice to know that there is this person who is _there_ for you no matter what. The one with whom you'll always make it up, because your friendship is more powerful than anything that can possibly stand between you two. I feel lonely. I am sort of okay, fine, but still... I don't know where this sentimentality even comes from.

Potter looks up directly at me, and I hastily avert my eyes. _Damn,_ he caught me staring.

**

"Hey, Malfoy... wait!" I am descending the staircase to the dungeons and hear his quick footsteps scattering against the stone. I turn.

"What, Potter?"

"How does your transformation go?" He looks down at his feet.

"It doesn’t _go_. It doesn't happen."

"Oh..."

"Same with you, I assume?"

"Yes." He runs his palm over his face. "Feels like I don't have the energy or magic or whatever enough to perform it... it's so tiring, I..." He shakes his head.

I know what he means. Transformation requires a lot of energy, but once complete, it gives you more than it takes. Any time I felt exhausted or weak I only needed to transform and run wild or even sleep in that state to emerge strong and whole again. Now those futile attempts, going on in circles, only wear me out. I know all this too well.

"I think we should stop trying,” I say, “for the time being. We waste ourselves away."

Have I just said _'we'?_ Am I implying we are in this together? I don't know… he’d saved my life after all, and I owe him. There's this odd feeling of something shifting between us. It had appeared somewhere along those moments in St. Mungo's yesterday. It's just I wanted to dismiss and discard it. I don't like feeling exposed, and I am - with Potter I am. He somehow demands it of me. As though I have to invest myself, and with him I always did, in the wrong and destructive way, perhaps. I always thought that Potter brought out the worst in me. Now I think that was not the case, not entirely. It's just one way or another he always demanded _a lot_ . And I had to protect myself, otherwise... I don't know what otherwise, but... I was always scared to invest myself openly and too much, lest it would make me vulnerable. And I still am. Perhaps it would be better to have things mild between us, better for _me,_ at least. To have it polite and neutral, not getting engaged myself too much, and honestly - this is what I've been recently striving for. No such luck, whatever it was, we could never be neutral, I doubt we ever will.

The air is charged, he looks at me oddly. I don't know what to say, but this _thing_ right now absolutely has to be broken.

Voices reach us from the top of the staircase. People are approaching, and I almost exhale in relief. This is suffocating, I need a way out, and now I have an excuse.

"Come on," I say, brushing past him down the steps, "we'll be late for Potions."

He says nothing, but I know he follows me. I'd rather not have his eyes on my back all the way to the classroom, but okay, to have them on my face is worse, so... I have to deal with it.

**

I don't want to be alone with Potter. Well, I sort of _do_ \- but I don't for more than one reason. So when he all of a sudden appears in the library, I swear under my breath. Now, when I have no reason to be mean, no pretext for shielding myself with hostility, dealing with him is more unsettling than ever.

"How did you find me?" I snap, because really - who says I have to be nice?

"Accidentally?" He shrugs, sitting down at my desk.

"Accidentally my arse, you looked as though you knew exactly where to look." I glare at him. "Were you stalking me? Really, Potter?"

I deliberately tucked myself away into the least attended part of the library, into the most obscure and dim alcove behind the loaded bookshelves by the window. It's impossible to _accidentally_ stumble across me here _._

"I wasn't," he says, but on his face I see that he was, which he won't admit.

"What do you want?"

"I think we should do some research," he says, craning his neck to look at the book title I'm reading.

"Research on what?" I get what he means, I ask him just for something to say. I've been doing the damned _research_ this whole afternoon. Potter's proximity is unsettling, and I should speak random things to keep myself casual.

"On our condition." He takes another book from the pile in front of me. "Oh... You are already doing that."

"I've found nothing yet." I shake my head. "I don't think one finds such things at Hogwarts."

"You know, I've been thinking..." Potter turns to look at me. This close I see specks of gold in his jade irises and the yellowish-golden tint fading into green around the pupils,. This is such a weird combination. I always assumed his eyes are green – just _green_ . I mean, not that I pay attention to the colour of his eyes, but it's sort of a _thing_ about Potter, like a common knowledge, like his trademark or whatever which everyone constantly rants about - as much as his _Scar_ and his glasses.

"I'm going to ask Hermione for help," he says, "I don't think we’ll figure it out on our own."

"We? What do you mean ‘ _we’_ , Potter? It's not like I intend to be attached to you in the hip just because our condition is similar." I say it without malice, but he flinches.

"Er... I thought," he says awkwardly, "that we are sort of together in this, that we should help each other, like... you know..." He looks down at his hands. He is embarrassed.

 _Oh_ ... I mean... There's this thing about me when it comes to Potter I doubt I'll ever get rid of: I think I don't consider myself to be good enough for him to genuinely want to have anything to do with me. I know, all the previous times he helped me - it was out of sense of duty or pity or guilt, or out of his Saviour instinct. I’m sure he never wanted to do any of it. But he is so fucking _noble_ , he couldn't allow himself to act otherwise. This is why I always feel small and worthless in his presence, always feel myself _lesser_. And I don't like it. This is why I prefer to avoid his company. I don't like how it makes me feel about myself. And the fact that he attracts me on a visceral level makes everything even worse, because it's so fucking humiliating to have a crush on someone whose morals and high standards you'll never be able to live up to.

But I can try. And I sort of despise myself that I want to.

"Oh, okay... I don't actually mind, Potter," I say, poking him in the ribs, "don't get all worked up. Maybe you're right, and the chances are better if we combine our efforts."

"Okay, good," he says, "so I ask Hermione?"

"I doubt she'd want to help _me_. But you can avoid mentioning that I am involved."

"No, I don't think so," Potter says, "I will have to tell her everything if we want her to be able to help."

"If she refuses, you can't blame it on me, I've warned you," I say.

"Fair enough." Potter stands up. "But I think she'll want to talk to you personally about it; if she agrees, that is."

I feel ill.

**

When Granger arrives on the weekend. I face her in the library, having been bracing myself for two days.

"Hi, Malfoy," she says all business-like and jumps straight to the matter, "so Harry told me about what happened, now I need to know your version of events."

"My version? It's identical to Potter's."

"Generally, yes." She nods. "But maybe there are little details about your experience that you consider relevant to tell me?"

"What do you mean?" I frown.

"Anything." She shrugs. "For example, Harry had told me details of his transformation process, and it came out that he needs to relax physically and mentally to be able to transform, so he usually takes a long hot bath beforehand."

Potter across the desk clears his throat. I feel my face begins to feel a bit warm as I remember my own way of _relaxing in a bath yesterday_ , thoughts of Potter naked being not at all alien to it. Long and hot indeed. _Very._

"Right." I nod. "Actually... same." I never imagined informing Granger of my bath habits with Potter present. _Merlin._

"Same what?" Granger asks, and Potter's head snaps up. The right side of his face is redder than the other, and a flush creeps down his neck. The collar of his shirt under the pullover is open at the throat. It draws my attention without my will. I am trying to fathom are there any scars left where the Werewolf’s claws had caught him? Seems like there are none, for his neck looks smooth where the collar is open, revealing a glimpse of his collarbone and the vein pulsing at the base... under flushed skin... _Oh, for fuck’s sake!_

I force myself to look at Granger. "Same. About the need to relax. Same for me."

Potter looks anywhere but at me. And I haven't even outright mentioned the bath!

"Okay, good. That's at least something to begin with," she says, "now, please, give me a full account of events that night."

I do, with occasional remarks from Potter. She is nodding and taking notes; there’s this stubborn determination to her... Really, I doubted Potter’s confidence when he said Granger would find a solution. Now I see what he meant.

When in the end Granger is about to leave, something comes over me.

"Wait!" I say to her retreating back. She turns.

"Just... would you sit down for a moment?" I say, forcing the words out of my mouth, "I just..."

Potter looks at me with a slight frown. Probably I should have done it in private with her, but somehow I feel that I need him to hear what I am going to say.

Granger comes back, sitting down across from me. Potter does the same.

"Right." I take a deep breath. "First, thank you, Granger, for taking your time to help. You don't have to do this for me, and if you refused, I'd totally understand. Actually, I expected you'd tell me to fuck off."

They both stare at me.

"Second, I want to apologise for... everything. Because, although I regret a lot of things, I've never actually outright acknowledged how wrong my behaviour was. So I owe you this. I am very sorry and I understand that you'll never forgive me, but I am sorry."

Saying nothing, Granger nods, looking down at the desk. I glance at Potter, meeting his eyes. There is an odd look on his face, I cannot tell what it is. Although anxious whether I've said the right thing, I am glad that he's here, witnessing me doing it, that he has listened and heard.

"Okay, I... I've heard you, Malfoy," Granger says quietly, and I break our staring contest with Potter to look at her.

"It’s good that you understand. Harry told me that you'd changed a bit, but thank you for speaking out on your own."

What?.. Potter told her _what?_

She stands up, holding out her hand. "See you."

I shake it faintly. "See you."

"Are you going, Harry?" She turns to Potter.

"I think... you go, Hermione," Potter says, "I need to...just..."

"Okay." She nods. "I'll call you." She squeezes his shoulder. "Bye."

"Bye," Potter says in her wake and turns back to me.

"You told her _what_ , Potter? About me."

"Er... am I wrong?" He laughs, trying to turn it into a joke.

"I don't know... I mean..." I can't wrap my head around this idea that for once Potter thought well of me and sort of defended me in front of Granger without me even knowing, like... he had absolutely no need or a special reason to do it, right? He did anyway. I don't know how I feel. Sort of pissed off with Potter for bestowing me with a blessing of his pity behind my back; on the other hand… the thought that he considered me to be worthy of him saying anything in my defence unsettles me and makes me strangely excited at the same time.

"No, you are not wrong," I mumble, standing up. I must distance myself from him, I am suffocating.

"See you, Potter." I turn to go.

"Malfoy, wait." He startles me, grabbing my sleeve.

"Look... would you sit down for a sec?" Potter says and laughs nervously, because this is a repetition of the situation with Granger. "I need to tell you something." He releases my sleeve.

"Alright." Coming around the desk, I sit down across from him.

"What you’ve said to Hermione, was so..." He struggles to pick a word. "Brave? Human? Real?" He says as though asking me to pick whichever one I like best.

"So... I have something to say, too. I should have done this a while ago."

My heart skips a bit. Whatever Potter means, it is important to him, everything about him screams it to me.

"I wanted to apologise for Sectumsempra, for nearly killing you, for leaving those scars on your body." He looks at my chest. "I'm sorry, Malfoy."

His words urge me to press my hand to my chest, exactly where those scars he’s talking about are hidden beneath the clothes. I don't, sitting still, looking him in the eyes.

"I didn't know what the spell did, but that's not an excuse, I know. I certainly didn't want to kill you or give you something like this. But I wanted and intended to cause you harm and pain and humiliation. I’m sorry for that."

"Okay, Potter," I say dumbly. I don't know what I'm supposed to say in a situation like this - 'thank you for your apology'? Probably I should go with it?

I stand up. "Thank you, Potter... for... everything. It's okay. I must go."

"See you," reaches my ears, but I am already striding along the isle. Finally, I can breathe.

**

Tonight I dream of Potter.

"Hi." He perches at the edge of my bed. I notice he is shirtless and barefoot.

"Hi," I say, sitting up. The blanket falls down onto my lap, and I realise I am completely naked. I know for certain, I went to bed in my pyjamas on. I don't remember how or why or when I've got rid of it.

"How are you doing?" He asks, peering at me over the rim of his glasses, and I see how impossibly bright his eyes are.

"Fine." I say, tugging the blanket up to my armpits. It is essential that I cover the scars.

"Don't." He shakes his head. "Let me see them." He slides closer to me along the bed.

"Why?" I'm not sure I'm ready or want to. They are my secret, that sacred cipher on my body that is not shared with anyone. Even with the person who'd marked me.

"I made them." Reaching out with his hand, he leans forward,

I jerk back, pressing myself into the headboard. "No!" I grip the blanket.

"Yes." He nods, tugging it down. I hold onto it for dear life, but it dissolves and my palms press into my bare skin.

"Lie down," he whispers, straddling my legs.

"What are you doing, Potter?"

"Healing you. Let me."

Under pressure of his palms on my shoulders, I slide down the bed to lie on my back.

"Let me?" He repeats.

"And if I won't?" I look him in the eyes.

"Let me, you won't regret it," he insists, caressing my collarbones with his thumbs.

"And if I will?" I say archly.

"You won't," he whispers, lowering his face to touch one of the scars with his lips.

An electric surge shoots through me, and I gasp.

Smiling, he looks up. "I promise."

Leaning down, he kisses again and again, and another one, and another, and my chest is burning. His lips are sliding down along my midriff, trailing the one of the longest scars, and onto my stomach, and further down to stop right at the hipbone where the scar ends, only to linger a moment, beginning their way back. My skin is burning in pain and pleasure, and arching into his touch I regret nothing. I slide my fingers into his hair.

Looking down at my chest, I think I know what I am going to find there: nothing. _Nothing._ It is smooth and unblemished. No scars.

Potter's face is before me, and my hands slide down to rest at the base of his neck. His lips are bruised and swollen, and I realise he has gathered all the pain of my wounds on them. Of the wounds he gave me.

"What is this?" I touch his lower lip with my thumb where it is split in the middle, revealing a thin trail of blood.

"My apology," he says, bending down to kiss me. I am soothing his lips with mine, wishing their tenderness not to hurt, and I regret nothing. _Nothing..._

I start awake with a jerk. The lamp on the bedside table is glowing softly, and everything is exactly as I've just seen it in the dream. Except that I am alone in my bed. With a sigh, I turn on my side, my heart thudding. I touch the scar on my chest, trailing it with my fingertip.

_Damn._

**

I am aware of Potter watching me. Though I haven't caught him staring even once, I just _know._

It started at breakfast. As soon as I sat down at the table and briefly acknowledged him and Weasley with a nod. It hadn’t stopped during classes. I am aware of his heavy gaze on me all the time.

Last night was surreal, that dream that still haunts me. I look up quickly from my notes to see Potter's profile. He is listening to McGonnagal intently; too intently I'd say. All his posture is screaming _'Look at me, I'm so busy with the class, that I don't give a fuck what's going on around.'_ As though he haven't been staring at me for an eternity, as though he has no idea I am looking at him now.

Bending down, I make a show of rummaging in my satchel, and then abruptly sit up, looking at Potter. He is staring into his textbook, scratching the tip of his nose. _Oh for fuck’s sake!_ I reach into my bag, this time for real, to retrieve a spare piece of parchment.

_"What do you want, Potter, staring at me like that?"_

I crumple the note into a ball and glance at the teacher's desk. McGonnagal is immersed in her lecture, looking in other direction. Aiming, I throw the note, sending it right into Potter's temple. It bumps into his head, falling down at the desk in front of him. Picking it up, this time he _turns to look at me_ , and I consider it my little victory in this childish game. I don't look away. Crossing my arms, I give him a nod.

Potter unfolds the note. He frowns, stares, looks up with his eyebrows drawn, looks down and up at me again. And I would have bought it, sure... but his face rapidly grows crimson and it’s hilarious. Gesturing with my hand, I grin at him, urging him to reply. He grabs the quill, quickly scribbling under my words. Sending a note through the air with a wave of his hand, he turns away.

Unfolding the note, I already know what I'm going to find there: _'What are you talking about?'_

 _Of course_.

There’s this childish urge in me: I want to laugh and call Potter names, getting under his skin, making him look and notice me and respond. Making him pay attention. And be furious, fierce and passionate.

Do I actually miss those school days? Oh, whom am I kidding? I want Potter's attention and his eyes on me. I want to feel his presence, focused on me alone, making my heart speed up, making me feel alive and alert. But now I don't want his ire or spite, I don’t want to be mean in return. I want banter without meanness, I want his laughter and bright eyes, shooting glances at me, I want him to want to make me laugh. I want this easiness that he has with Weasley. I want him to like me. I want to discover how his fondness would feel, when even his hatred always made my heart race. And now, when we are not stupid children anymore, maybe I stand a second chance?

 _'No, really, Potter. What’s the matter?'_ I scribble below his words.

Rereading, I debate with myself. Oh, fuck it. _'I am worried,'_ I add and quickly fold the parchment, lest I change my mind. I carefully send the note to glide through the air between the desks, until it smoothly lands in front of Potter.

Reaching out with his hand, Weasley snatches it right from under Potter's nose, and I almost growl; _fuck_. But Potter instantly grabs Weasley's wrist, unbending his clenched fingers to retrieve the note. With an eye roll, Weasley surrenders, offering the note on his open palm, and I exhale in relief. Grabbing the note quickly, Potter unfolds it under the desk, shielding it from Weasley's line of sight.

Sitting still, he looks at the note for a while and then takes the quill.

_'We should talk, if you don’t mind. Come to my room after dinner tonight.'_

I look up. He is watching me, this time not pretending otherwise. I nod. He nods back, and turns to say something to Weasley.

 _Merlin._ Potter invited me to his room. I need to calm down and not be an idiot. But when did I ever manage it around Potter?

**

I raise my hand to knock at Potter's door and lower it down. I am so nervous for some reason, I am afraid to make a fool of myself.

Right. Potter is the one who invited me to talk. No need to be over-dramatic. I knock.

The door opens, revealing Potter in a loose pink T-shirt and jeans.

"Hi!" He says cheerfully. Probably too cheerfully to really be as casual as he appears. "Come in." He steps aside.

I enter, looking around. The room looks very much like mine, well - generally. Actually, it is completely different. It’s very... _Potter,_ I’d say. His presence is vivid in every little detail. It is cosy and soft, and not at all messy (I am surprised). A warm brown wood of the floor and beige walls; a fluffy dark-brown carpet. A bright red duvet is the only thing red in the room, though I expected it to be crazy Griffyndorish all over.

A loud click of the door closing makes me turn. In this ridiculous shirt Potter looks thinner than he actually is. He is barefoot, and I notice he wiggles his toes on the carpet. Potter is ridiculous, I can't believe a moment ago I've been dying of anxiety to face him.

"So, sit down?" He gestures at the armchair. I do. Potter flops down on his bed, propping himself against the headboard.

"Actually..." He clears his throat. "I know it sounds stupid..."

I can tell Potter is nervous. He has that odd look on his face, as though about to be caught in something he wasn't supposed to engage in.

"I've had this dream and it’s..."

 _Merlin_ , if I didn't know better, I would have assumed he's talking about _my_ dream.

"It's about your scars," he says.

_Fuck._

"What about them?"

"I sort of... I don't know how to explain that, but..." He looks up at the ceiling, as though trying to remember what he is talking about. "I was healing them... and, like..."

_Fucking hell._

"...and I healed them, it was my way of making it up for what I'd done, to apologise." He looks me square in the face.

My heart is racing. _No... no way..._

I clear my throat. "You healed them how?"

Potter traces the pattern on the duvet with his forefinger. "I... cannot tell... I think, I don't remember..."

_Don’t remember my arse..._

"...but I'd done it," he finishes.

I shake myself. "Why are you telling me this?"

"I don't know, I..." Potter rubs the back of his neck. "It's just this _thing_... the dream, I mean... like, it haunts me, I mean... can they be healed?"

"No, I don't think so." Surely not by kissing them away. Regrettably. "If they could be healed, do you think I wouldn't have done it already?"

Potter winces. "I'm so sorry, Malfoy..." He shakes his head. "I was an idiot, forgive me; I didn't fully comprehend what I'd done."

"We both were idiots." I shrug. "It's not like I was sending flowers your way either."

"I don't think..." He shakes his head.

Oh, I know that he doesn't. But I know myself, and he is mistaken. I was wound up enough to be able to Crucio him in that moment, whatever he may think. The Unforgivable requires a genuine intent even more than any other curse; but I had it, I know I did.

"I don't know, Potter." I meet his gaze. "But... you shouldn't assume I was incapable of doing shittiest things, just because now we don't hate each other." I really don't want to delve into it, don't want to revive those moments when Potter witnessed me at my worst.

Potter nods. "Yeah... I mean... I'm really sorry, Malfoy, and I regret that. You know, I thought... probably it isn't how it works? Maybe the scars _can_ be healed, but only by the person who caused them?"

 _Merlin,_ images of Potter's dark head bent down over my chest, the feeling of his lips on my skin - bringing the pain and ecstasy and - ... _Ohmygod_... Was this a dream?

"... If I could, I absolutely would have," he says.

"How?" I utter.

"I... don't know how... but if I knew..."

 _He wants me dead._ I am sure now, we'd seen the same dream last night, the _very same_ one. And in it he was doing to me - what he was doing; and he is no less shaken than I am.

"Harry?" There is a knock on the door.

"Come in!" Potter calls.

Weasley's eyes widen when he sees me.

I am relieved and frustrated at once. That he's broken the mood, that _thing_ between me and Potter that has been hanging heavily in the air. _Relieved and frustrated._

"Oh, er..." Weasley glances between us.

"Okay, I have to go." I stand up.

"You don't have to..." Potter says.

"No, I actually do. I’ve got some stuff to be done." I try to sound casual and not at all as shaken as I actually am.

"Oh okay... see you then," Potter says, standing up.

"See you," I repeat, and... He offers his hand. I take it and squeeze. His palm is hot to the touch, strong and wide. I like how it feels against my skin. It strikes me, that this is actually the first time I shake hands with Potter, it is so weird and exhilarating.

"Thanks for... you know..." _Thanks for your apology and honesty and for admitting that you were in the wrong, it means a lot_ , I'd say. But we are not alone, and the moment for such a thing has passed. So I just nod, releasing his hand, and head to the door. "Bye."

"What the hell was that?" I hear, closing the door. Weasley's voice is bewildered. Potter replies something, and I'm dying to know what he says, but I can't make out a word.

**

I'm trying to read and do a bit of homework, _not_ thinking about Potter, when there is a knock on my door.

"Malfoy?"

My heart jumps. I've left his room only like an hour ago... and barely managed to calm down, sort of. Give me a rest, Potter, will you?

"Come in!" I raise my voice. _What now?_

The door opens. "Malfoy, Hermione is on the Floo, she asks you to come as well. There's something she's found, I think." He bounces on his heels, still barefoot. It's so hot in my room, no wonder my face is burning.

"Okay." I close the book. I have a feeling that whatever Granger's got to say - I'm not going to like it.

When we enter the room, Weasley is nowhere to be seen, which is surprising, for I assumed they are dating with Granger and he won't keep his nose out this business.

"Hello, Malfoy," Granger says out of the Floo.

"Hi," I reply, crouching in front of the fireplace, and Potter lowers himself beside me.

"Okay, so... I can't say that I've found a solution, but I have some ideas as to what had happened to you, and they need to be verified. I assume that both of you suffer a mental trauma caused by the Werewolf's attack. This is nothing new to you, I believe, surely Healers in St. Mungo's had informed you."

She is right, I sulk. Yes, this is what they told us, but also they didn't tell how it’s cured. they basically told us to do nothing and wait until it wears off, or it doesn't.

"But the significant detail for me here that it simultaneously affected you both, so it could have established some kind of connection - mental or magical. Is there anything that has changed for you both since the attack?"

We exchange brief glances with Potter.

"I don't know... hardly," he says, "Malfoy?"

"I noticed nothing of the sort." I shrug.

"Maybe some little details that seem insignificant to you?" Granger peers at me. "Weird dreams?"

At the edge of my vision I see how Potter's head snaps in my direction.

"Dream sharing?" Granger continues, "any little things that may indicate towards the established connection?"

 _Dream sharing._ I turn to Potter. He doesn't know dream sharing has occurred, and I'm not about to tell him or Granger. Not about this one anyway. Why the fuck hadn't we shared a dream about Quidditch or taking our NEWTs? I would have gladly told it to Granger, and maybe she'd find a way to help?

Potter looks at me oddly and shakes his head. "No, I don't think so, Hermione."

"Fine," Granger says, "we'll try the other way. You should try and cast your Patronus. If you both fail, it may mean your ability to concentrate on the essence of your happiness is being suppressed. It probably may give us a reason to assume that my theory is right."

"Okay, right." Potter springs on his feet. Backing off into the corner, he closes his eyes, breathing deeply. "Expecto Patronum!"

Nothing happens. I'd seen him casting a Patronus before, so I know that these thin silvery wisps of light from his fingertips that fade instantly - are not _it._

"Expecto Patronum!"

"Expecto Patronum!" He sounds angry. "Fuck!.. I can't." He turns to me. "You?"

"Me neither." I shrug. "Never could, so this test is not informative enough, sorry Granger."

"What?!" Potter exclaims in such disbelief as though I've just said something preposterous.

"What?" I reply. Honestly, I'd rather not explain myself on that matter. "I'm unable to cast a Patronus. _What_ , Potter?"

"Are you serious?" There is such a naive pity written across his face, that I'd gladly slap him.

"Fuck off, Potter!" I snap, "I can't cast a Patronus. End of story." I turn back to the Floo to look at Granger, feeling Potter sitting down beside me again.

"This is so unfortunate." She shakes her head. "If any of your symptoms proved me right, I would at least have something to recommend to you in that case..."

 _Damn._ Now what? How am I supposed to tell her this? But otherwise, how is she supposed to help?

 _Oh, fuck it_.

"Actually..." I begin, "now... if I think of it, I remember _something_ that _could_ have been that sign..."

"What?" They both say at the same time.

"I reckon, it's a dream..." Even not looking at Potter, I feel he is holding his breath. "The one that... Potter had told me about." I risk a glance in his direction. His eyes widen

"And now, that you've asked about it... I think I'm beginning to remember having a very similar dream."

Potter's face is something between bewildered and horrified.

"What was the dream about?" Granger asks.

"I... cannot tell you." I shake my head. _Fucking hell._ "But I think... we must have shared this one."

Granger's eyebrows shoot upwards. "Harry?"

"What?"

 _Merlin,_ I'll have to explain this to Potter somehow.

"Are you okay?" She peers at him closely.

Potter is most certainly _not_. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Well..." She waits for him to elaborate, he doesn't. “At least, can you confirm what Malfoy says? Did you tell him about your dream recently?"

"Ah... I think, yeah, I..." Potter makes a show of racking his brains, trying to remember. He is ridiculous, and obviously Granger is not buying it. "Like, just today... I told him about a certain _weird_ dream..." He turns to me, face murderous. "Do you mean _that one_ , _Malfoy?"_

"Yes... I mean _that one_ , yes." I nod.

"And why didn't you say a word that you'd had a very similar one, _Malfoy?_ " He asks acidly.

"I don't know, I suppose... I didn't want to freak you out." I shrug.

"What's going on?" Granger looks between us.

"Nothing," Potter says hastily, "so, Hermione, if indeed we did share a dream, it confirms your theory. So what do we do?"

"You both need to relax." She rolls her eyes.

"No, I'm serious, Hermione."

"I'm serious, you need to calm down and clear your mind, since you two sort of mildly 'bonded' in some obscure way. It’s meanong I cannot fathom yet. I think it's due to the similar wounds the beast had caused you when you were transformed, being under the same Full Moon with a Werewolf and each other... I think you two need to do it together - for a reverse healing process. Spend the time in each other's company, talk, be _normal_. Natural environment could help as well." She looks between us. "You need to actively cooperate. Don't kill each other." She winces.

"Is this necessary?" I ask

"I am really sorry, but yes," she says, "it is essential for your mental health that you cooperate. Try not to pick fights, it's exhausts your nerves, getting you nowhere. I think if you succeeded in Patronus, it would indicate that you were doing well."

Merlin's tits, it's even worse than I imagined.

**

When Potter breaks the Floo connection, I am already halfway to the door.

"Oh, _no fucking way_ , Malfoy!" He says angrily. "We talk about this right now."

"Try me," I throw over my shoulder, taking the door handle, when a hand grabs my wrist, swirling me around.

"What the fuck? Get off me!" I wrench my hand out of his grip.

He grips my other wrist, his face furious.

"Fuck off, Potter!" I shout, shoving him in the chest which doesn't help much, because he grabs me around the waist, trying to pull me away from the door. I grab the door handle, and the door snaps open.

"Close the fucking door, you coward!" Potter yells, trying to tear me off.

"Harry?" Weasley is in the doorway, his face bewildered at the sight of me stretched between the door and Potter.

"Not now, Ron," Potter chokes out, trying not to let his hold slip, "I must kill him on my own." He wrenches at me in one sharp tug, causing us both to land in a heap on the floor. With a wave of his hand he slams the door shut in Weasley’s face, and I hear the click of it locking. I am trying to rise on my feet, but he holds me down. I’m kicking violently. I am strong, but he is stronger.

"What the fuck do you want, Potter," I force through the gritted teeth.

"We need to talk." He is breathing heavily.

"Fucking release me, will you?"

There’s insistent knock on the door. "Harry? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Ron," Potter raises his voice, finally letting go of me.

I spring on my feet, and he slowly follows.

Breathing heavily, we stare daggers.

"Fuck you, Potter." I head to the door, and can't believe when he grabs me again; is this really happening?

Without a warning, I stomp my heel into his foot, _hard_ . Because I’m in my brogues and he is barefoot, because I _can_ and want to. Letting out an inhuman howl, Potter releases me. _Good._

"Fuck you, Potter," I repeat, unlocking the door.

In the corridor Weasley is leaning against the wall. I brush past him.

"What's going on, Malfoy?" I hear in my wake. Not slowing down, I throw my hands in the air.

I am so angry, I want to storm and rage and smash something. Entering my room, I grab the cushion from the armchair and hurl it against the wall where it falls on the floor, knocking down the picture of winter Hogwarts with it. I want to go back to Potter’s and smash his head against the wall. So much for cooperation.

"Weasley?" I knock on his door sometime later. "It's Malfoy, may I come in?"

I hear footsteps and the door opens. "Malfoy." Weasley frowns.

"Look, Weasley... may I ask you something?"

"Go on..." He says warily.

"Look, I need to talk to Granger, how can I contact her?"

"I... why?" Something odd appears on Weasley's face.

There is a sound of a door closing and footsteps inside the room.

"Is she here?" I peer over Weasley's shoulder.

"No, she's not," he says, his expression stony, "why do you ask _me?_ "

"Well, she's your girlfriend, I sort of assumed..." I trail off.

"You assumed wrong." His tone is flat. "We don't talk much."

"Oh, okay..." Merlin, this is not going as planned and I embarrassed us both.

Potter comes up behind Weasley, his expression instantly turning livid the moment he sees me. _Fucking hell._

"Sorry, Weasley, bye," I throw hastily, backing off and away down the corridor. Brilliant. _Fucking brilliant, Draco._

**

When in the morning an owl knocks on my window, I'm still in bed.

\- _'Malfoy, we should calm the fuck down and discuss things like normal people. Otherwise we’re not going to make it through._

_H.P.'_

_~ 'I am perfectly calm, Potter. The problem is you._

_D.M.'_

I send the bird back.

_\- 'HAHAHA! Sure you’re the most unproblematic guy in the world.'_

_~ 'Seriously, Potter? Are we really discussing this by the owl-post???'_

_\- 'How else can we discuss it, if you don’t cooperate, being the stuck-up arrogant git that you are?'_

_~ 'Fuck you, Potter. Are you really sending me now these letters from your room that is right next to mine?'_

_\- 'Fuck you, Malfoy. Yes, I am. So what?'_

_~ 'This is so dumb, why am I not surprised? Only the dumbest prat like you is capable of exhausting a bird like this for nothing.'_

_\- 'We are both doing this, Malfoy. And I must let you know that I consider you the most annoying, self-entitled git in the world.'_

_~ 'So much for cooperation, Scarhead. And who insists on talking like normal people? If this is your standard of 'normal', I won’t further dignify your pathetic ramblings with an answer.'_

_\- 'I WON'T FURTHER DIGNIFY – Merlin’s tits, FERRET. You sound like a self-entitled over-bred arsehole that you are.'_

_~ 'I am rolling my eyes so hard at your stupidity that I may actually pass out.'_

There is no reply for quite a while, and I think that I've managed to shut the git up, when the note slips under my door.

_\- 'YOU ARE BOTH SO FUCKING DUMB. What do you even quarrel about? I’m sending this poor bird off to the Owlery._

_WEASLEY.'_

**

I feel unwell tonight, itchy anxiety eating at me. I've come to rely on my transformation in the past few months so much that now, being unable to do it, is literally renders me ill.

Switching the bedside lamp on, I look at the clock: two in the morning. Having been tossing in my bed for several hours, I feel feverish and thirsty, as though my body temperature is higher than normal; it probably is. I am contemplating the thought to go get a glass of water, when the door opens. What the fuck? I most certainly shut and spelled it locked before going to bed, as I always do.

When Potter steps into the room, I am not even _that_ surprised.

"What do you want, Potter?"

He clicks the door shut.

"Can't sleep." He shrugs, approaching. "I think I got a fever." He rubs at his forehead.

"Me too," I agree.

He sits at the foot of my bed, and somehow it seems perfectly normal, though it should freak me out, or piss me off - yes, something along these lines.

"You know..." He begins. "I think that our fight and... this stupid quarrelling in the letters this morning has taken a lot of our energy... I mean, this is why we feel so ill."

"Probably," I agree, wiggling my toes, for Potter is sort of sitting on them.

When he lifts the blanket, reaching for my feet, I don't react even as half as I should. So when he puts my feet on his lap and begins rubbing them... and I almost purr in delight... It suddenly strikes me.

"Is this is a dream, Potter? One of _those_... which we can't tell Granger about?"

"Could be." He nods. "I don't know." The touch of his palms on my feet is firm but gentle, giving the right amount of pressure: strong, but not too strong to cause pain; soft but not too soft to tickle. He kneads at the base of my toes, rubbing along the arch from beneath with his thumbs, and it feels so nice, so relaxing, that I feel instantly better. His touch is calm and reassuring and not sexual at all; though there is this _awareness_ in me that can turn it sexual any moment. I close my eyes.

"Most certainly this is not real, Potter, but okay... don't stop."

He doesn't stop, stroking my ankle and the base of the calf. I am astonished at how expertly he is doing it.

"Probably you're right," he says, placing my foot carefully down and taking another one, "I mean... I don't think I would have come to your bedroom to give you a foot-rub."

Of course he wouldn't, but somehow I feel offended at these words.

"Then why are you doing this in a dream?" I say sharply, but it comes out tiredly.

"Because it's not real?" He shrugs. "Although... someone told me once - something happening inside your head doesn't mean it's not real." He looks up at me.

"What do you mean?" I frown.

"I mean, anything is as real as we consider it to be." His hand stops its movement, now resting on my foot.

"What are you trying to say?" I sit up, "Do you want it to be real?"

"I don't know..." his fingertips are drawing tiny circles over the skin of my feet, and instantly his touch ceases to feel just 'friendly', growing into something more. "But I think... if I were completely opposed to this idea in reality, hardly I'd have been doing this right now?"

This seems valid and I nod.

"Though I probably shouldn't tell you this," he continues, "because I'll most certainly regret it in the morning."

He's right, and I'll regret all this, too. But right now it feels like nothing can coax a strong reaction out of me. It's as though all my contradictory feelings towards Potter, all my aggression and vitriol from the previous day have dimmed down. I am enjoying his company, enjoying what he's doing, and why shouldn't I?

"Do you want me to?..” I trail off.

"What?"

"To return the favour? Give you a foot-rub?"

"Thanks, but no." He shakes his head. "May I ask you something? While we are asleep, and not fighting..."

"Yes, go on."

"May I take a look at your scars?"

"Sure, why not?" I pull my T-shirt over my head.

"Oh..." Potter stares at my chest.

"What?" I look down. In the dim light of the lamp my skin doesn't look as pale as it actually is. But it is enough to see that there are no scars on my chest and stomach. Not a single one. _Nothing._

"They are gone," Potter says, reaching with his hand to place it on my collarbone, "Completely." His palm glides over my chest, just so, barely touching, but it’s raising goosebumps over my skin.

"I think..." His hand slides down to touch my stomach and rest on the side; my breath goes shallow. "I think I had succeeded last time, I had made them vanish..." His face is very close. "Here, in the dream, I mean..."

When he lowers his face to touch his lips to the base of my throat, I cease breathing completely.

"Maybe it means," he murmurs against my neck, "that at least here... you had accepted my apology?" He turns his face up to look at me. His eyes are so dark and serious, and for the first time I realise, he's not wearing glasses.

"I did," I whisper, "I did," moving forward that remaining half of an inch.

When our lips touch, it is as though all the questions are answered, problems solved, solution offered. His lips are so soft and firm at once - the kiss gentle and strong, exactly as his touch. I slide my palms up his neck and into his hair, I want to cradle his face and look at it and feel his stubble against my skin. His lips open in invitation, and probably I am not ready, but I dive for it anyway, as long as I can, as long as this is not real. He squeezes me, making me gasp...

... I start awake with a hammering heart.

_No... No..._

I look around. The lamp is switched off, the first hint of dawn creeping into the room. _Fuck._

My face is damp, my whole body sweaty, and I am so hard I might explode. With a grunt I grip my cock beneath the blanket, giving it several rough strokes. It is enough to make me shudder and come. It is so hot, I can't stand it. Kicking the blanket off, I lie on my back for a while, staring at the ceiling. I am messy and damp and in a need of a shower, my hair plastered to my forehead. I brush it off. How am I supposed to face Potter now? _Fuck._ It occurs to me: if I've woken up, it means he is too awake in his room right now, very probably jerking off as well, most certainly aware of these same thoughts that have just occurred to me.

I sit up in bed. Okay, maybe I'm making it up, and Potter is none the wiser? Maybe this was my own dream, and he has nothing to do with it.

In the shower I look into the mirror at my scars. All there. Most certainly are.

**

When I bump into Potter and Weasley in the corridor on my way to breakfast, all my hopes disappear with the look at Potter's face. Whatever I imagined just an hour ago proved to be not the case. Potter saw the same dream: he _was_ there with me, giving me a foot-rub just because he wanted to, asking permission to look at my scars, kissing me with that dizzying focus of his which I saw so many times directed at something or someone else, but never at me. Well, not true, I had it on me alright more times than I can count, but it always came as vitriol, anger and spite, and never as tenderness or caress or desire. It made me tremble, it shook me to my core. And despite each of us having been sleeping alone in their bed tonight - somehow everything's happened inside our heads, and it doesn't mean it's not real. _Damn,_ it felt more real than a lot of stuff I encounter daily.

"Hey, Malfoy," Weasley says, and I nod. Potter says nothing, looking away. Passing them by, I speed up. I don't think I want a  small talk in Potter's company right now. Fucking hell, how am I supposed to be in the same room with him after last night? There's no way we'll speak to each other again or even look in one another's direction; and we share a desk at Potions, for fuck's sake. Just like this morning: the first thing after breakfast.

Double Potions pass on a new level of embarrassing, though Weasley's presence helps somewhat. Not having a clue what's going on, he feels that something is up, darting weary looks in turns at us both. But he talks and overall acts like one normal person out of the three of us. Have I just thought that about Weasley?

By the lunch-time I've reconciled with the thought that this is how it will go from now on between us. Perhaps the embarrassment will eventually wear off, and we'll forget why exactly we don't speak to each other. If another _dream_ wouldn't fuck it over, that is. When an owl lands on my shoulder during lunch, I jump in my seat, looking instantly at Potter. But he is talking to Weasley far down the table, not paying me any attention. Right, it could be from anyone, no need to get all worked up. I unfold the letter. Okay, it's not. It's not from _'anyone'_ , and I have every reason to get worked up alright.

_‘Meet me in the library at 8pm tonight. Be there, I'll find you._

_H.P.'_

My first urge is to send the owl right back to him with a _‘Fuck you’_ , but then I reconsider. Last time we fought proved to bring nothing but disaster. Okay. And it's the library, after all. There are a lot of people there. It's not like he invites me to his _bedroom._ The thought makes my face hot, because I'm actually not sure what would I prefer - if it were perfectly normal, like in a dream - to be or not to be alone with him in his bedroom. It occurs to me, that Potter must have chosen the library - a public place - for this very reason that makes me hot and bothered. Fine. With an owl on my shoulder I stand up, exiting the Great Hall.

_'You forgot to add a Magic Word, Potter, but whatever. I'll be there at 8 pm, if you ask so nicely._

_D.M.'_ I write, sitting on the windowsill in the Entrance Hall.

Tying the note to the bird's leg, I release it, watching its flight right through the open double door of the Great Hall.

**

I don't tuck myself away into the farthest corner of the library, but I don't sit right by the entrance either. At five minutes to eight, I drop at a random desk somewhere in the middle and wait.

"Hi," Potter says, sitting down next to me. It is eight o'clock sharp.

"Hi," I turn to look at him, to actually look at him openly for the first time today. He has that wary expression on his face that reflects exactly how I feel right now. We both don't know how to move through embarrassment that ties our tongues and normally talk. But he is the one who had invited me here, it's up to him to begin, I suppose. So I wait.

"Okay..." he says, looking ahead, "I think we should just sit down and talk about it. About what's happened and how do we deal with it."

"Talk about what? Can you be more specific, Potter?" I hide behind the words that I pile one on top of another between us, hoping they protect me, shield me from his gaze and his demands of honesty.

"About what happened last night." His voice is quiet, he still prefers not to look at me.

"We shared an erotic dream, Potter. Do you have anything to say on the matter?"

Potter clears his throat. "No... yes... I mean, not about what happened in the dream. What I mean... we don't have control over our dreams. It may happen again, it may not. But Hermione is right: it seems some kind of bonding had occurred. So if we need to cooperate, we should not allow those dreams affect us. I talked to her today..."

"Merlin, Potter, you told her?!"

"I told her nothing. She suggests we should try and transform, and do it together."

"Like... simultaneously?"

"No, like, in each other's presence."

 _Merlin._ "Why?"

"Because, she says, transformation requires a particular state of mind, and we need to achieve that state together. Attune..." He clears his throat. "To each other and such to make transformation possible. Something holds us back, and together we should break through."

"Okay..." I say faintly. I mean... really, this is a lot. "And how are we supposed to do that?"

"She says, we need some sort of environment to practice, and perhaps do it daily, you know..."

"What environment? The only kind of environment for this is a wilderness, and I'm not going into the Forest, thank you..." I say. No, absolutely _fucking not._ "At least until I'm able to transform. Don't know about you, but I'm unable to do it in my room or anywhere indoors. I tried." I look at him.

Potter watches me with his arms crossed, chewing at his lower lip, and... I remember those lips on mine, I remember their pressure - astonishingly soft and firm - trailing the scars on my chest. I remember them bruised and bleeding after taking all my pain from Sectumsempra away, and though all this had actually never happened, at the same time it had, and we both know it, which makes it very difficult to pretend that it hadn't.

I don't know what he is thinking, but perhaps I've been staring for too long, and all these thoughts that are fucking me up are showing on my face, because he stops worrying his lip and rubs at his nose, concealing his mouth from me.

"Yeah, I've been thinking about it, too. I have an idea..." He trails off. He’s reluctant to share it for some reason. "I don't know if..."

"What is it, Potter?"

"The Room of Requirement." He looks at me.

"But... it's not there..." I feel ill. "It had burnt out."

He knows it as much as I do. He dragged me out of there when it was happening, for fuck's sake. I don't want to be reminded of it.

"The Room of Hidden Things - yes." He nods. "But it's not the whole Room."

 _Wait, what?_ "What do you mean?"

"Didn't you know?" He raises his eyebrows.

"Spill it, Potter." I roll my eyes. "No, I have no idea what you're talking about, otherwise I wouldn't have asked, would I?"

It's easier this way: banter, eye rolling and acid remarks. It feels almost like our normal way of interacting with Potter. It almost allows to forget the other _things_ that hang between us unspoken. Things we are absolutely _not_ going to address.

"Yeah, okay..." He scratches his head. "So. The Room of Hidden Things is - or _was -_ a Room of Requirement, you are right. But the Room of Requirement is not only the Room of Hidden Things. It is so much more, it has multiple facets and can turn into whatever one requires, if one does it correctly - hence its name. You can say that the Room of Hidden Things was a facet, the facet that is no longer there, you’re right. This one facet had got destroyed and will hardly ever present itself again, at least in the state that we used to know.  But the actual Room of Requirement is still pretty much there. So what I'm trying to say is that we can practice there, we can require the environment we need."

"Fuck me..." I blurt and Potter flinches. _Shit._ I ought to be careful with what I say around him.

"I mean..." My face grows hot. "How do you know?"

Potter shrugs. "I've just checked. Before coming here."

"Merlin's tits, Potter..." I stare at him. "How... I mean, _what else_ do you know about the things I'm not even aware of at Hogwarts?"

He gives me a crooked smile. "How can I tell, Malfoy?"

"Okay, fine... and you say it obeys you? The Room?"

"I wouldn't call it _'obey'_." He shakes his head. "It's more like... I don't know, like... Hogwarts agrees to cooperate when I ask her to."

"Her?"

"Yes, it's... it's hard to explain, but it is _'She'_ , not 'it'."

"How do you know?" I look at him sceptically.

"I just know, okay?" He shrugs. "I don't have a proof, but it's _'She'_ , believe me."

"If you say so... fine then." I mean, there's no reason for him to lie about it, right? "So if we went and asked the Room to appear and provide us with a forest or a lawn... a natural environment, I mean... do you think it would?"

"I think so, yes." He nods. "At least we can try."

"Weather? Can it do weather?" My eyes widen. "Seasons? Day and night? It's better works at night for me..." This is freaking brilliant! If that's actually true, that is.

"I don't know, I mean..." Potter laughs. "We can try and find out, I suppose? As far as I know, it can provide anything - I mean literally _anything_ , once one finds their way around it."

"And you're telling me, that you did find your way around it?"

"Yes?" Potter wiggles his eyebrows.

 _You'll be the death of me, Potter_ , but really... I am awed. Though it's not like I'm ever going to tell him.

"Well, it sounds great." I smirk. "But remains to be seen." I wiggle my eyebrows back at him.”

**

I can't sleep tonight. I am so hyped up after our meeting in the library with Potter... I can't wait to go and find out. We agreed to do it tomorrow after classes, before dinner. I wanted to go and check on the Room immediately, but Potter said he was tired, and it wouldn’t work as good in that case.

So here I am, tossing in my sheets. The thought occurs to me. Actually, I have a few questions to ask Potter. May as well do it now. It's not that late yet, it's not even midnight. Yes, good idea. I get up. Throwing my bathrobe over my pyjamas, I fix the belt and step into my slippers.

I knock on Potter's door and don't have to wait even two seconds before it opens. _Aha!_ I’ve been right, he's awake.

It's only when I am grabbed around the waist and pulled into the room... and pressed against the door, his breath hot in my ear... - I realise that he's not awake, and neither am I. We are most certainly both asleep, and this is a fucking _dream_ again, because without preamble Potter tilts my head back, latching his mouth to the base of my throat. _Yes._ I shudder. And gasp. And go liquid in his arms. I am helpless and I welcome him, it is all I ever dreamt of.

" _Fuck_ , Potter." I exhale, my stomach trembling, and all I can think of is how his body feels against me. How his lips are sliding up my neck, no doubt leaving bruises, but it doesn't matter, _this is not real._ I can do anything I want. I grab his arse to grind my erection against him and turn us around, so our positions against the door are reversed. I am so done with being kissed and manhandled, I intend to _do_ the kissing, as well as everything else. When my tongue finds its way under his ear, Potter _moans_ , bucking up against me. He is shirtless and so hot to the touch that I feel it even through the layers of my clothes.

"Take it off." He tugs at the belt of my bathrobe, and I help him, because _yes_ , getting rid of it is my main priority at the moment. The bathrobe falls on the floor and the top of my pyjamas follows. And finally, _finally,_ our chests touch without any barrier between us. I feel the pressure of his palms sliding up my back, and then down, to dip inside my pyjama bottoms, and back up again, to caress my sides, travelling to the front, until Potter leans back and looks down at my chest.

"So this is a dream then," he whispers, circling my nipples with his thumbs, making me tremble.

"Of course it is..." I reply, throwing my head back.

"Haven't been sure, but..." he murmurs, leaning down, and I feel the electric touch of his tongue on my nipple. "No scars, so..." he says against my chest, and I wind my fingers in his hair, holding him there.

When his hand finds its way between us to wrap around my cock, I am afraid to come this instant.

"Stop..." I whisper, "just... don't move." His hand stills.

Tugging at his pyjama bottoms, I look down at his cock: it bounces free, hard and ready. I take it in my hand and squeeze.

Thrusting into my grip, Potter sighs and begins stroking me in return. I feel his other hand pressing into my lower back, pulling me closer to lean into him, to brace myself against the wall. I want to claim his lips and I do, touching them gently, feather light at first, again and again, knowing it drives him insane, leaving him frustrated and deliberately doing it, until he growls, kissing back, giving as good as he gets. The kiss feels even more intense than the sensation of his palm setting me on fire. I retaliate with all my might, moving my hand faster, kissing him harder, and I’m almost _there_ , we both are. Our shudder becomes one and his moan echoes through my very core, letting me go, making me cry out and pulse into his hand as I gather his own pleasure in my palm, smearing it into his skin and pressing him heavily into the door, for my legs fail to support me.

"Oh my God." His voice is muffled against my shoulder. I feel his hands at the small of my back, thumbs drawing circles.

"Indeed." I huff into his neck. I probably should stop crushing him, but my legs turned to jelly, and I'd gladly stay like this for a while.

He turns his face to look at me. In the dim light of his bedroom, his smiling face is all flickering shadows. Capturing my lips, he kisses me so soft and sweet and tender, as though saying that he is glad that we’d done it, that he is happy to be here with me, that it is all he ever needed. Dizzy at such a confession, I kiss back. I want to let him know that I wanted this, too, and not only in the dream even, that I wanted this all along... Though hardly anything is going to happen for real, but still...

... Pressing my fingertips to my lips, I stare ahead, unwillingly letting go of the remnants of the kiss. I lie awake as the light in my bedroom slowly shifting into morning.

**

What I gathered from Potter's words last night, is that we can't control our dreams, so we shouldn’t let them affect or distract us from our goals. In short, if a dream like this ever occurs to us again, we should ignore it and behave as though it hadn't.

Right. This is what I'm trying to do at breakfast this morning. So is Potter, judging by that ill look on his face.

Neither of us is succeeding. I have no idea how are we supposed to act normal and _'cooperate'_ , as Granger put it, meeting today in the Room of Requirement. _Not_ thinking about last night, not feeling every beat of that wild dream pulsing in our blood. _Merlin,_ I'm getting hard at the mere thought of it, fuck. I reach for a coffee pot, glancing in Potter's direction. His face flushed, he tries to loosen the tie around his neck. He looks flustered and unwell, as though developing a fever. Our eyes meet, and I see he is dying of embarrassment; we both are. I stand up. I'm not hungry, may as well go to the Transfigurations classroom already. Anywhere, really, just not to be in the same room with Potter. How am I supposed to survive the Room of Requirement?

**

When I arrive at the seventh floor, Potter is there, and the Room is already opened. He is leaning against the wall by the door.

To be here again, walking this corridor... All the way down to the farthest wall, where you have to concentrate, hard, pacing back and forth, praying that your needs be met again this time. So many memories hit me at once, but most of all hopelessness and despair - those were my constant companions during that dreadful period of my life.

"Potter," I say, peering into the room through the open door. It is completely empty.

"Malfoy." He pushes himself off the wall and enters the room. Taking it as an invitation, I follow.

The door clicks shut behind us, and I know that it blends into the wall from the outside.

"So," Potter says cheerfully, still with his back to me, "this is it. The Room. What should we make of it?"

He plays it cool, as though nothing had happened, good. I think I can go along with it.

"A lawn?" I offer.

"Okay, let's try a lawn," Potter says, not turning to me. He stands still, seconds pass, and at first nothing happens, but then the walls begin to expand, becoming transparent, the grass is flashing green under my feet where the flagstones have been a moment ago. I see a forest in the distance, and the birds’ twitter fills the air. I look up: the sun is high and tiny white clouds are scattered in the bright-blue skies. The air is sweet with the beginning of summer, I inhale it in lungful.

"What do you think?" Potter's voice says near me. For a moment I've forgotten he's here.

"This is great!" I look at him. "I can't believe... I didn't think you meant _this_ , telling me about the Room."

"What did you think I meant?" He smiles awkwardly. But it's okay, it's alright between us again. Whatever may have been there, it has remained outside this Room. And now we are back to normal: just the two of us focused on our task, without hidden meaning or subtext to our every word.

"Oh, I thought it would be much simpler... you know." Looking around, I take a few steps across the grass. "More artificial, I think."

"Oh... I mean..." He shrugs. "I’ve made it how I imagine a lawn that I'd love to find myself on, I suppose."

"You made it... how?"

"Actually, I haven't done anything. It's the Room. I just imagined the place I'd like to find myself in," he says, flopping on his back in the grass.

"Just like that?" I sit down next to him.

"Yes?" He looks at me upside down. From this angle his face looks different, more… handsome. Have I just thought _handsome?_ _Yes_ , and inviting. That’s the word: _inviting_. I'd like to lower my face and capture his lips in mine in the upside-down kiss. It would be so easy. Maybe he would even welcome it.

"What?" He asks.

_Well, maybe not._

I realise, I'm staring.

"Nothing... just... can I manage that?" I hastily ask to cover my embarrassment. "Can I make the Room create what I want?"

"I don't know, try. Why not?" He says. "There are no rules, you just do it - or you don't."

I almost growl with frustration, because it has never been that simple for me as it is for Potter. He yields reality to his whim, always did, while I following a set of rules, checking the limits, anxious to toe the line.

"Come on, Malfoy, just relax and concentrate. Do it."

"How am I supposed to relax and concentrate at the same time?"

"No idea." He laughs. "But that's what I do, it works for me." He sits up. "Close your eyes and let your mind drift; imagine whatever you want the Room to present."

"Okay." I close my eyes, aware of Potter staring at me. How am I supposed to relax under his scrutiny?

"Potter, stop staring," I say.

"Sorry," he says, and I peer at him with one eye. He lies down on the grass again. Good.

I close my eyes, trying to picture the piece of Hogwarts grounds I like the most. The place where I usually come to transform.

"Whoa!" Potter exclaims, and my eyes snap open.

"You are doing it!" He says. "Look!"

There ahead of us, the edge of the lake is glistening silver under the sun. Freshness in the air indicates water proximity.

Have I just done it by my will? I stand up, heading towards the edge of water. Potter follows.

"About last night..." He says all of a sudden behind my back, and I start - just a little. I'm not a half as freaked out by him bringing it up as I ought to be. Probably it’s the effect of this place.

"Why bring it up, Potter?"

"Because here I feel like I can, without dying of embarrassment." He comes up to stand beside me. "So as long as I can, I should address it."

I look at him. His face is calm, serene, as he observes the lake.

"We shouldn't freak out that much, I suppose," he says, "if this thing occurs again... just..." He shrugs. "Take for granted that we don't have control over our dreams, so... it's not like we've actually _done_ something to be embarrassed of."

Oh, I didn't think about it this way. Somehow his words in the dream have stuck with me: _‘Of course it's happening inside our heads, but it doesn't mean it is not real.’_

I don't know... I apparently perceive it as more real than it actually is; more real than it is for Potter. _Fuck._ Get a grip, Malfoy.

"Right... you're right." I nod. "Nothing had happened, it's just this stupid bond plays tricks with us. The sooner we get rid of it, the better."

He looks at me. "Right... absolutely.” There is something else in his manner, rather than in his voice, but I can't grasp what it is. "And to get rid of it we should try our best every day."

"But what are we supposed to do?" I look around. "Try to transform?"

"Yes, eventually, I think so... but overall - try to calm down and clear our minds, spending time here. Probably every day. That's what Hermione said about putting in a little effort every day."

"Okay... at least we should try, it's not like we have another plan?"

He nods, lowering himself down onto the grass and reclining against an oak tree that has appeared behind him.

"Show off," I say, sitting down beside him to mirror his position.

"If you say so," he agrees.

We sit.

**

_I told you something safe_

_Something I've never said before_

_[Troye Sivan, ‘Animal’]_

It goes like that for some time now. I spend my evenings with _Harry Potter,_ rolling around in the meadow, talking about nothing. What has my life become? I don't know whether it’s working; our occasional attempts at transformation don't lead anywhere yet, but somehow it had become our routine, and neither of us complains. I can't believe Halloween is approaching, it feels like only few days have passed since our encounter with the Werewolf.

When Weasley asks what we are doing in the Room, Potter shrugs  and says we're carrying out Granger's plan. I notice it puts Weasley off. Potter told me, Weasley and Granger broke up a while ago. Things didn’t work. Potter said at first he couldn't believe it, thinking they eventually would make it up. When several months had passed and they hadn't, and then a year had passed and they hadn't, it finally reached home that it was permanent. He is still bitter about it. He always took for granted that his two best friends were destined for each other, and it came as a shock that they actually weren't. He finds himself between them now: either with the one or another; Weasley and Granger don't interact much.

I don't know what surprises him. I'd say it's obvious, if anyone asked me. Granger is ambitious and - let's face it - brilliant, however it pains me to admit it. Her learning abilities at school proved to be something more than I always thought. At a time I tried to convince myself that she was nothing but a bookworm with a good memory and annoying habit of showing off. She proved me wrong. Her intelligence has few equals; she is bright, stubborn and creative. In these past few years she has become a force in the Ministry one should take into consideration. She's passionate about what she's doing - something about magical minorities' rights, I didn't delve much into that. But it's obvious Weasley is no match for her. Maybe he has a heart in the right place, but he's ordinary, simple. I get it that they weren't meant to last. Apparently Potter had never thought of it that way. Well, they are his friends, he's not able to be objective.

Since I know all this, seems like we actually talk a lot.

"It was a tough time," he says, dangling his bare foot in the water. We are sitting on the rock, having shed our shoes and with our trousers rolled up. "When they split up. We'd broken up with Ginny as well."

"Why?" I'm curious, and here in this place I don't bother pretending otherwise. Although there are certain limits to our openness, it's so much easier to ask those things here, than out there in the world outside.

He laughs. " _Why_ do you think?"

Of course. "You realised you are not into girls?" I cannot imagine how I would ask him such a thing outside this place, but right now it feels sort of natural to talk about.

"Yep." He nods. "I think, I _am_ into girls a bit, but not as much as is expected of me. Mostly it's..." He shrugs.

Oh, I didn't know that. Being so utterly gay myself, I somehow never considered this option in other people: you are either gay or you are not, and never in-between. Apparently I'm mistaken.

"So, you met someone then?" I ask.

"No." He shakes his head. "No, it's rather... I developed a crush on someone, which led me to finally realise something was up. But no, this person... he never knew."

I'm curious, if he had any actual relationship with a man, but _this_ I'm not going to ask.

"Have you ever considered of telling Weasley?"

"I have... eventually, I think. But I still don't feel ready for anyone to know. I don't think I'm going to tell him anytime soon."

"Well, you don't have to." I shrug. "If you don't want, you don’t have to make a statement. When you are in a relationship, it comes out on its own."

"Yes, I suppose." He clears his throat. "I don't know... I'm still figuring it out."

"Fair enough." I agree. He doesn't want to delve into it, so I'd better drop the subject.

"What about you?" He asks, giving me a curious glance. He has a pile of tiny rocks in front of him which he is arranging in a circular pattern.

"What about me?"

"How did you realise this about yourself?"

"I think I didn't." I shrug. "There was no _realisation_ , I sort of always knew."

"How?"

"I don't know how. I just always knew something was different about me. And when in my teens I began noticing boys, began crushing on guys when all my classmates were obsessing over girls, it didn't even come as a surprise, you know. I think I always sort of expected something like that."

"Cool..." He says, fascination in his tone.

"You think?" I laugh.

"Yeah! I mean... you weren't freaked out, you didn't struggle with accepting it. That's great, you're lucky."

Harry Potter considers _me_ lucky? Well, maybe I am. I never thought about it. Maybe.

**

"Trick or treat, Malfoy?!"

I start, turning around.

"Fucking hell, Weasley!"

The idiot is wearing a giant pumpkin head, and it's only by the characteristic _'Malfoiii'_ I am able to recognise him.

"Don't be so stuck-up, it's a Halloween party!" He tugs the pumpkin off. "Bloody hell, this thing is suffocating." He shakes his head. His ginger hair is plastered to his sweaty forehead.

"Leave it on, Weasley." I shrug. "There's no much difference... with that pumpkin hair of yours."

"Come on, Malfoy." He pokes me in the ribs, almost making me splash my drink. "Why aren't you dressed up? You would've made a nice _skeleton_ , quite realistic," he says cheerfully. I roll my eyes.

"No, really... or a _dragon_ ? You should've come as a dragon. To make a statement... with your fancy name and all..." He looks at me sheepishly. "It was supposed to be a joke, you know... like... _funny?_ " He wiggles his eyebrows.

"Leave me be."

"Really, what's up, Malfoy?" He claps me on the shoulder.

"Nothing." I reach for another drink from the passing tray. “I’m not in the mood.”

It's really nothing... it's... _Potter_ , dancing with his sister all night long. It's Potter laughing and squeezing her hand, leaning down to whisper something in her ear. This stupid party is tiring me out, and really, why have I even bothered to attend? Especially when it had become known that Weasley's siblings were invited. His ginger elder brother, who looks quite hot, I must admit; I've never seen this one before. And Potter's ex-girlfriend, who behaves as though she's not his ex-, but his actual girlfriend, for fuck's sake! Though Potter doesn't seem to mind. Which makes me feel ill for some reason. I should probably go, what's the point of me being here anyway?

"Charlie!" Weasley waves the pumpkin head over the crowd.

When his brother approaches, I cannot help but stare: so freaking handsome the guy is. I never imagined I'd use the words _'hot'_ and _'handsome'_ to describe a Weasley, but here I am, ogling one.

"What's up guys?" He claps Weasley on the shoulder, giving us a bright smile that lights up his golden-brown eyes. I feel the urge to adjust my hair.

"I'm Charlie." He offers his hand. "His brother." He nods in Weasley's direction.

"I know." I take his hand. "Malfoy. Draco Malfoy." His eyes on me are intense, studying and... appreciative? It suddenly strikes me that if I didn't know better, I would have thought he's flirting. But do I?

"I know," he repeats after me, releasing my hand, "Ron told me you are the fellow Ministry trainees now."

Faces like this always drew my attention: his aquiline nose and shaped cheekbones, strong jaw and thick eyebrows, which, surprisingly, are not red but dark-brown. There is not a single freckle on his face. Earring dangles from his left earlobe, and his fiery-golden hair is ruffled, and I like it _a lot._

"Yes, we are... we are," I agree. I don't know what to say. Awkward silence falls.

"Did you know Charlie is a Dragon-tamer?" Weasley says, being none the wiser about _something_ \- right here between us. “Someone wants something?”

"Dragon-tamer?" I repeat. Is he taking the piss?

"Yeah! Actually, Charlie... Malfoy wanted to come in a _dragon costume_." Weasley  laughs, backing off into the crowd. "Pity he didn’t!" He throws over his shoulder, retreating in the direction of the serving tables.

I roll my eyes. "He's taking the piss."

"I know." Charlie nods, smiling. His eyes are mischievous and warm, _caressing._ I want to stare into them, to look and _look_.

"Are you actually a Dragon-tamer?" I ask for nothing better to say, because _really..._

"I am," he says, "is there a _Dragon_ to be tamed?" He gives me the once-over, and I choke on my drink. I guess I'm a tad tipsy on this punch, which I've probably had a bit too much.

"It's too stuffy here, don't you think?" He says and _briefly touches my hand_. "Would you care for fresh air outside?"

"I... yes, sure," I reply after the briefest hesitation, putting my glass down onto the passing tray. Because _why not?_ If I've had any doubts about him just a few minutes ago, it's clear as a day to me now. The mere thought sends my pulse racing. Sometimes you just need this, alright? And he makes me not think about Potter. Fuck Potter, I don't care.

Charlie turns, heading through the crowd to the open double door, and I follow, leaving the Great Hall in his tow.

We cross the Entrance Hall in silence, not saying a word. We don't stop on the porch, descending the steps, and the cold night air hits me. He stops down by the wall, looking up - waiting for me.

"Come here," he says, offering his hand.

I come and take it and feel the tug, as he pulls me closer, turning me around, until I'm pressed into the wall and there's no air between us. Cupping my face, he crushes my lips, and it feels so good. _So good_ , that I growl, fervently kissing back, pressing into him with all my body.

The hard ridge of his erection is right there, with only two thin layers of fabric separating us. I want it off. He's a good kisser, very. Rough, insistent and... careful? I don't know how these things are supposed to combine, but in his kisses they do. It feels so different from Potter. Not better or worse, no... just different... though hell if I know how Potter kisses, he has never kissed me. It has never happened, whatever I may have imagined in those wet dreams. Enough of Potter, this is not even a _thing_ about him. It's just... I don't know why I'm so upset about him and his girlfriend together. Well, fuck it, I have a more pressing issue right now, and it feels so good.

Squeezing his arse, I grind against him, and he grunts in my ear. I feel his fingers find their way up my back beneath my shirt. They are cold, and I gasp and shiver, leaning into the touch all the same.

"You're so hot," he whispers, capturing my earlobe between his teeth.

"Hot like..." I shudder. " _Hot_ hot... or hot to the touch?”

"Both." He laughs breathlessly. His palm is on my stomach, sliding down to rub at my erection through the trousers. I arch, gripping his hair, bringing his face down to my neck. I want his lips all over my skin without any barrier between us.

"Wait," I say, "maybe... would you like to... come to mine?"

"Yeah?" He leans back to look at me. "I've got enough fresh air, I reckon."

His smile is warm and mischievous. He winks  and I smile back. It is so easy with him.

He takes my hand. "Come on." Pressing me into the wall, he kisses me again, until I'm breathless, until I'm trembling, until I don't mind everything to happen right here, in the open, by the Hogwarts main entrance, where anyone can see us.

"... the hell is Charlie?" Weasley's voice says very close, "last time I saw him, he was with Mal..."

"Oh!.." A female voice exclaims, and then - _silence._

Slowly breaking the kiss, Charlie turns around. And here they are: the three of them on the steps, staring at me - spread against the wall - with Charlie's hand still on my neck.

Weasley gapes in shock; his sister's eyes are wide, she wraps her arms around herself against the cold. Potter is standing a couple of steps up with his hands in his pockets. Although embarrassed and annoyed, I am glad that he's here. I am glad that he sees me like _this_ : with another man; that he knows _what_ we've been doing here; like it's essential that he knows.

There is an oddly resented, annoyed look on his face. He frowns, opens his mouth to say something and closes it again. Turning on his heels, he quickly climbs up the steps, disappearing behind the door.

**

I'm sitting in my room in the dumbest mood possible. Why is this always my luck? Charlie has left - I asked him to. The moment was broken, it didn't work out.

"I'll fucking kill Ron," he said, when his siblings left us alone, following in Potter's wake.

"Please do." I wrapped my jacket around myself. I was in a foul mood.

"Look, I'm sorry." He sighed, touching my elbow briefly.

"What for? Your brother is not your fault." Looking at my feet I shrugged.

There was an awkward silence, both of us aware that it was over.

"I think you'd better go," I said, looking up at him.

He nodded. "Are you sure?"

"Yes... I'm sorry, but..." I shrugged.

"I know, the mood is killed. It's not your fault either." He offered his hand. I took it.

"You're a good kisser, by the way." I smirked.

"Same to you." He smiled.

We both laughed, and it was okay again.

He left.

I went straight to my room, swearing to kill Weasley if he crossed my path. I met no one; he probably returned to the party. And Potter is probably making out with his _girlfriend_ somewhere, or already is fucking her into the mattress in his room. I strain my ears but hear nothing. Tiptoeing to the wall that separates my and Potter's rooms, I press my ear against it and close my eyes. _Aha!_ There are footsteps, and a sound of a chair or something being dragged across the floor, and then silence. Then Potter says something. I knew it, he's not alone. I try to hear anything else that may indicate that they are indeed fucking, but there is no sound. Either they are not fucking, or they are doing it quietly for not to be heard. I push myself off the wall. This is ridiculous. Do I actually give a fuck? Potter says something again, and I press my ear back to the wall. Silence. Fine, let them fuck their brains out, I don't care. I have other things on my mind.

**

When I enter the Room of Requirement, cold wind hits me, throwing rain in my face. What the hell? The weather is awful, it has never been like this before. The surface of the lake is grey and troubled; the trees are bending under the wind. I never even thought it could be like this here.

Okay, I can fix it. I close my eyes, trying to imagine a serene picture of a midsummer meadow under the setting sun. Nothing happens. Either I'm not trying hard enough, or the Room has ceased to obey me. But when did I have to actually _try hard_ recently to maintain whatever environment I want in this Room? It was so easy, it flowed so naturally that I almost forgot I had to put any effort into it.

Taking a few breaths, I close my eyes again and try to sedate my mind and concentrate. The meadow, the lake, the warm golden glow of a sunset, quiet in the air. But the image gets distorted, refusing to form in my mind.

I open my eyes. Snowflakes are swirling in the wind, and frosty breath of winter bites my skin. The rain has ceased to be replaced with a snowstorm. I struggle to breathe and can barely discern my own hands in front of me. _What the actual fuck?!_ I should better get out of here, unless I plan freezing to death. I turn around and my heart sinks. How am I supposed to find the door?

My back bumps into something solid that yelps and pushes me back. My heart pounding, I reaching for my wand in its sheath inside my sleeve and whirl around - to stare right into Potter's glasses that are half obscured with snow that sticks to them.

"Malfoy!" he exclaims, and there is such annoyance in his voice, "what are you doing here?"

"None of your business!"

"Get the fuck out of here, or I'll freeze you to death," he barks, wiping snowflakes from his glasses.

"What?!"

Fucking hell, _of course_...

"It's your doing, Potter? This shite of a weather?"

"Yes! You are not supposed to be here, _get out."_

I should get out alright, but out of spite I won't, just because he is telling me to.

"Don't order me around, Potter."

"Get the fuck _out!_ " He grips the front of my shirt. I try to wrench his hand off, but my fingers don't obey me.

"Fuck you!" I spit, staring at him, and concentrate, hard. I am pissed off, I am so angry, that right now I don't have the faintest doubt: it must work. And it does. It is working, because snowflakes are turning back into raindrops, and the air is warming up.

Potter's eyes widen. _"No way,_ Malfoy," he hisses in my face, apparently trying to bring the snowstorm back. Nothing happens. Only the rain begins to recede. It is fairly warm now, and though I am soaked through, my fingers are okay again, and I grip Potter's wrist, wrenching his hand off me.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" I say, wiping my face with the hem of my shirt. The sky clears, welcoming sunshine. I see the door far ahead, just to the side of the bushes.

Saying nothing, Potter takes his glasses off to wipe them at his sleeve. He’s clearly stopped doing what he's been doing, because the weather is steadily warming up; the grass has dried and birds are twittering in the forest.

He looks up. Without glasses his eyes are so open and vulnerable, they are _pulling_ me in... and what happens next feels very natural, _just a little push_ ... and I am in Potter's mind. At first he doesn't understand what has happened, because there is no struggle - only surprise. But then his awareness starts to ripple around me. He tries to block me out, but panic is the very thing that never allows that, only pulling me deeper into the whirlpool of his emotions. At the back of my mind I know I shouldn't... shouldn't violate him like this. But I am still angry, I don't control myself either, and right now I don't particularly care. I concentrate, looking for _something..._ for the thing he may desperately try to conceal. He doesn't know how to do it subtly, he had never learned; he should have had.

I see tonight’s Halloween party unfolding before me through Potter's eyes...

_... People are moving, talking, dancing. I peer through the crowd, looking for... Ginny is saying something, but I don't listen. I think I've just seen a glimpse... There he is, following Charlie out of the Great Hall. I don't like it, I don't know why. But I'm not going to like, I'm sure..._

_"It's bloody hot here," Ron says by my side. I didn't notice him approaching. "Where's Charlie? He's just been there, like a second ago." He points ahead to where indeed Charlie and Malfoy stood before walking out._

_"Let's get some air," Ginny says, "may as well find him outside, Harry?"_

_"Yeah..." I nod, following them to the door._

_Ron runs down the steps of the porch and Ginny follows. I am reluctant to do so, knowing full well that I don't want to see... there's this gut feeling - when you just know._

_"Where the hell is Charlie? Last time I saw him he was with Mal..." Ron trails off._

_"Oh!..." Ginny stops in her tracks._

_I take a few more steps down... and there by the wall - their hands intertwined against the stone... Dumbly my gaze follows the line of arms and shoulders, and... The red head of hair is obscuring from me the other one, but I recognise him all the same, spread against the wall beneath Charlie's body. His hand grips at the back of Charlie's jacket, gathering fabric into fist. Slowly, the red head turns, and Charlie frowns at us. His hand is still squeezing the side of Malfoy's neck, and Malfoy... He is breathing heavily, and I stare at his red swollen lips, at his leg hooked up the back of Charlie's thigh. My pulse is pounding in my face, which feels suddenly hot and tight. I feel sick, I feel murderous. And the fact that I don't have the right makes it all even worse. I can't rage and shout and throw Charlie off, asking Malfoy what the fuck he's doing. I feel betrayed, cheated on. I am ridiculous, where does it even come from? Malfoy is staring up at me, as though daring me to say something. FUCK YOU, I almost spit. Instead, stuffing my hands in my pockets, I turn and hurry up the steps back to the door..._

His thoughts are flickering through my mind, rendering me so angry and wound up, that I almost forget they are not my own, when something _bursts_ in my head. I feel as though being slapped. Coming to my senses, I try to grip back at the thread I've missed, but it's not that easy, because... It is as though his presence fills my mind to the brim, as though I can't think a single thought without it being on display. In horror I realise that tables have turned, that I am laid bare. He laughs inside my mind. His laugh is cruel, and my head hurts. _Fuck._ It's Potter, however lame he may be in Legilimency, he never lacked raw power. Now he'll wreck me, tearing my mind to shreds.

"Potter, stop it..." I try to push forward. "You are killing me."

But the thought barely ripples, I doubt it even reaches him. I feel crashed as though under a huge rock, unable to move or breathe.

I see my own memories of the Halloween party being roughly ripped out and wrenched to the surface. Charlie’s hot body and his kisses, my lust and desire and urgency... _Rewind_ : I am following him out of the Great Hall, already shivering in anticipation. _Back to the party_ : he approaches us with Weasley, and I'm ogling him, thinking how damn hot he is. _Rewind:_ Weasley jumps at me in his pumpkin head.

_"... What's up, Malfoy?.."_

_"...Leave me be..."_

_… I am watching Potter on the dance floor, watching how he leans into Weasley's sister, watching, watching, feeling sick, feeling miserable, feeling jealous, feeling a loser..._

_… Snap back: to the moment where Charlie invites me outside. My brief hesitation, why not? I think. Sometimes you just need this, alright? And he'll make me not to mope about Potter; he'll take away those poisoning thoughts that are eating at me, that are pointless anyway, because this is hopeless, because it's Potter, and no matter how many dreams I may have about him, nothing's going to happen..._

Suddenly I am able to breathe again. A heavy weight lifts from my mind, a looming presence is no longer there... and I stare into Potter's wide eyes. Snapping out, he shakes his head, taking a step back from me, then another one. Turning on his heel, he storms to the door, slamming it hard behind him, leaving me in the meadow of poppies under the bright sunshine.

**

_I want you all to myself_

_Don't leave none for nobody else_

_I am an animal with you..._

_[Troye Sivan, ‘Animal’]_

This is a disaster of epic proportions, I think, dragging myself back to my room. How am I supposed to face Potter after this? I have no idea. My only hope is that he's going to avoid me in the first place. This leaves our Animagus issue unresolved still, there's no help to that.

It's well past midnight, and the party has surely come to its end. I think I need a shower, though I doubt anything would help me feel better right now.

In the bathroom I undress, studying myself in the mirror. I touch one of the scars on my chest. If Charlie saw me naked tonight, I think, would he ask about them? Would he notice them at all?

Stepping under hot water, I allow it to beat down my shoulders and back, washing the tension away, making me feel better. I turn under the spray when the door opens, and I freeze. Potter steps inside. He is wearing a black bathrobe which he unfastens at the belt, revealing nothing underneath. The bathrobe falls on the floor, and he slides the glass shower door aside. I am so shocked, I can't utter a word. Sliding the door shut behind him, he turns to me in a narrow hot space beneath the spray.

"Potter?" I look down at his cock that is shamelessly standing forward. _"What?.."_

"Shhh..." He closes the tiny distance between us, and I feel his hands at the small of my back, pressing my body into him.

" _What_ are you doing?" I utter, feeling his erection against my belly, thick and unapologetic, and _fuck..._ I begin to harden.

"What we both want," he murmurs in my ear, nuzzling the side of my neck.

"Do we?" I lean back against the wall.

"I do. Don't you?" He looks at me.

This is insane. "I cannot tell you, it's not a dream this time."

I mean... I'm fucked if I tell him, but I wanted Potter. I’ve been pining for him like a pathetic idiot I am. But I was sure, it would never _ever_ come to _this._

"No, it's not, this is real," he agrees, wrapping his palm around my dick. I jerk. I am fully hard and utterly terrified with what's happening.

"Do you want me to stop?" He frowns.

I don't want him to stop, though I should better tell him that I do. Should probably tell him to stop touching me and get the fuck out of my bathroom.

"Don't stop," comes out instead. I know I'm going to regret it.

He doesn't stop. _Oh Merlin_ , he _doesn’t,_ making me arch against the wall.

"We are good friends with Ginny," he says solemnly, and my eyes snap open. I haven't even noticed how I closed them.

"You are?" I ask faintly, having no idea what he's on about.

"Yes, and nothing more." His hand on my dick doesn't falter.

"Why?... _Ahh..._ are you telling me this?" I put my hand over his fist to still its movements.

"Because I thought you should know," he says.

"You did?"

"Yes. And I think you should return the favour," he says, trying to resume the movement of his hand, but I don't let him, shaking my head.

"To give you a handjob or to become friends with Weasley-girl?"

Releasing my cock, he laughs. "Both, if you want, but... I mean..." He leans forward so that our noses are touching. "You should tell me it was a ton of _bullshit_ about Charlie."

"Was it?" I raise my eyebrows.

Of course it was, and we both know it. He had seen it in my mind, but if he thinks I'm going to give in easily - he is mistaken.

"It was," he says, "you were jealous."

He kisses me.

And _oh..._ Only when our lips touch, I realise how I missed his kisses. Having never kissed him in the first place, I missed them all the same. Charlie was good, and I really enjoyed the moment we shared... but _this..._ I mean, this is _Potter._ They say the best kiss is happening inside your head. I don't know, maybe it's actually the fact I've been pining for him, or that I've resigned to never have him, is what makes this moment a thousand times sweeter. Or maybe he is indeed the best kisser in the world, because what we are sharing is not just a kiss, not merely a physical touch. His hands cup my jaw, gently tilting my head back. There's this quality to his touch: unbelievably gentle and firm, both at once. I knew it from a dream already, and now it's proving to be true.

"Admit it," he whispers against my lips.

"What?" I whisper back. I'm losing my ability to think straight.

"Admit you were jealous." He scrapes his teeth along my jaw. "Seeing me with Ginny you thought," he says into my ear, "that I gave you a reason to be jealous."

"You made me," I say against his lips.

"Made you what?"

"Made me jealous." I slide my palms up and down his slick skin under the spray.

"Say that again." His eyes on me are intense.

"Why?"

"I like to hear you saying it."

"I was jealous..." I whisper into his ear, "I was so fucking _jealous_ that I lost my mind." I bite lightly at his earlobe. "I felt _sick_ at the thought of you _touching her_ , of her _touching_ _you..."_

Potter shivers, pressing me into the tiles. "I want you," he says, _"now."_

 _"Now,"_ I repeat, pushing myself off the wall to grip the handle of the shower door. Sliding it open, I walk him backwards into my bedroom, leaving a wet trail of our footsteps on the carpet all the way to the bed. The room is illuminated with a bright moonlight, and when I want to switch the bedside lamp on, he says "Leave it. I like it this way."

Without his glasses, in the dark... “Do you see anything at all?" I ask.

"More than you think." His voice is smug. He sits at the edge of the bed and I straddle his thighs.

"Kiss me," he says, and I bend down to kiss him. His lips are everything I yearn for, and I take everything he gives me. When our tongues meet, sliding against each other, together we growl, going frantic. Falling on his back, he pulls me down on the bed with him. His skin is hot, and I love how solid and hard his chest feels against mine. I want to rub myself whole against him, and so I do, bringing out his gasp and sigh and growl. His hands cup my arse, giving it a squeeze.

"I want..." He whispers.

"Yes," I say, "wait." I climb off his lap to rummage in the drawer by the bed.

"Move." I nod towards the headboard, and he obeys, grabbing the pillow. When he is sitting propped against the headboard, I straddle his legs, pouring some lube into my palm, and taking his cock. He hisses, and I cannot help myself but plant a kiss on his straining neck.

I smear lube generously all over his length, which is thick enough to make me bite my lip in doubt. It's been a while since I'd done it, I must admit.

"Do you need a... preparation?" He asks, watching as I coat his cock with lube.

"No." I shake my head. I most certainly do, but there is no time for it, because this is urgent and I am impatient. I am most certainly going to regret it later, but I'm going to regret all _this_ anyway, so... may as well feel the reminder in the morning.

"Are you sure?" He asks, sliding his hands up and down my thighs.

"Shut up, Potter," I say and shuffle forward to line his cock up.

"Don't order me around, _Malfoy,_ " he says archly, as I begin to sink down. Apart from a little discomfort it's far easier than I thought.

"I do whatever I want." I grip the headboard behind him.

His palms cup my arse, not pushing, not forcing me down, just resting there lightly. I am grateful for that. He could have been insistent, he could have pushed me harder, being rougher, and in the heat of the moment I would've taken it all - so turned on I am. But despite his tone, despite what he says, he is careful not to hurt me, letting me have my own way, and I appreciate that.

"Of course you do," he whispers as I fully sit down on his lap, "just be fucking careful in what you do." He presses his lips to my chest, to my scars, again and again.

"Are you taking me for a virgin, Potter?" I try to sound offended. Moving experimentally, I wince. There's a pang and it burns, and I should wait it out.

"You?" He mocks, wrapping his arms around my waist. "Of course not."

"What do you mean _‘of course_ ’?” I protest, rising up a bit and sinking down.

"You are ridiculous, do you know that?" He laughs breathily and holds me firmly by the hips, as trying to find my pace I begin to move.

"No, I don't. No one ever says such things to me, Potter." The pressure is building up as I find the right angle, turning into the first sparks of anticipation.

"No one, but _me_ , you mean." He is breathing deeply, resting his head back against the headboard.

"Yes, you're the only one dumb enough to do it." I grip my cock.

"I only give you what you want." He arches his neck.

"Do you, really?" I bring my face down, pressing our foreheads together.

"Admit you like it." His mouth drops open. _"Ahh..."_

"I do." I kiss him once. "Now forget it." Twice. "I'll _never_ say that again." I am _very_ close, and so is he. My hand is relentless over my cock.

I bring him there first: he gasps and arches against me, and I feel his cock pulsing inside. He grips my arse, guiding me up and down, helping me keep up the pace.

"Come," he whispers, _"come, Draco..."_ and I part my lips against his, and I am coming hard. He swallows my cries of pleasure, swallows them all, holding me tight all the way, until my shudders stop, until I go limp in his arms, leaning heavily against him.

"You are unbelievable," he says into my shoulder, his fingertips drawing relentless circles over my cooling back.

I laugh weakly, I am so exhausted, I think I'm already falling asleep. "Just remember it the next time you taunt me," I mumble. I'd gladly sleep just like this, with Potter as a pillow.

**

_While you lie in the wake_

_Covered all in the night before_

_I'm high, high, high, no one's got me quite like you_

_[Troye Sivan, ‘Animal’]_

My head falls to the side, temple bumping painfully into something hard. I cringe. The headboard.

"Fuck..." I growl, "shouldn't have fallen asleep like this, Potter."

He doesn't reply. Sitting up straight, I rub at my eyes that refuse to open. The fabric of my sleeve feels coarse against my skin. _Wait, what?_ I look around. Oh, no...

_Fuck no_

_No_

_NOT THAT AGAIN_

I am sitting propped up against the oak tree, and the summer dawn already takes its hold over the lawn, the lake and the forest. I can't believe it.

_I CAN'T FUCKING BELIEVE IT._

I have to. Reluctant to go back to my room after Potter had stormed off, I fell asleep here last night. And all _this_ has never happened. Fuck.

It _had_ happened, and to him, apparently, too... But it had never _actually_ happened and... Merlin's tits, I thought it was bad enough yesterday. Very funny. It wasn't nearly as bad as _this._ It's even worse than if the whole thing were real. Because in that case we would have to deal with a real thing, and not with our stupid embarrassing fantasies that got out of hand.

I think I should skip the classes today. Go to my room and recuperate.

Heading along the corridors, I catch myself at the thought that I don't know for sure whether this is actually real or still a dream? I pinch myself - nothing happens. Last night it was absolutely vivid, too... even the scars were intact, this is why I didn't doubt it even a second. Fucking hell, I'm going crazy.

The rest of the day I spend in my room, not leaving even for meals lest I bump into Potter.

When the knock on my door comes around dinner time, I am reluctant to open it. I'm fucking fed up with surprises, you see.

Weasley at my door is a surprise indeed, the one I haven't expected.

"Hi, Malfoy."

"Hi?"

"Harry's sick and... he asked me to go fetch you, he wants to talk to you."

"What? Why?"

"I don't know, he's got a fever this morning and feels like shit, skipped classes. He says he needs to talk to you."

"About what?"

Honestly, I don't trust Potter or anyone right now, I don't trust my surroundings even a little bit. The fact that Potter asks me to come to his sickbed is the weirdest thing in itself.

"He didn't tell me.”  Weasley bounces impatiently in the doorway. “Are you coming?"

"Okay, give me a second."

Very well, fine, a little check up will do no harm. I head to the bathroom and hastily unbutton my shirt to take a look at my chest in front of the mirror. All scars are intact, as always. It doesn't mean anything, they were there last night, too, and look how the things had turned out. Though seeing them now calms me down a bit all the same.

"Lets go," I say to Weasley, following him to Potter's room.

"Harry? Malfoy's here," Weasley says in the direction of the bed, where I can see only a huge heap of blankets, one piled on top of another.

"Thanks, Ron," the heap says in hoarsely, moving a bit, "would you please leave us, mate?"

"Er... right... alright." Weasley glances at me, and I don't like it at all. He walks out, closing the door behind him.

In an instant, Potter throws the blankets off and leaps out of the bed. In two huge strides he is in front of me, locking and silencing the door with a spell.

"Potter?"

 _Fucking hell..._ I cannot tell I'm actually afraid of him, but there's a mad gleam in his eyes, he is shirtless and without his glasses, and his hair looks like a birds nest more than ever.

"There you are." He props his hands against the door at the either side of my head.

"What the fuck, Potter?" I push into the chest. Really, I'm getting fed up with all this craziness.

He presses back against my palm, trapping me between his body and the door.

"Why have you been hiding in your room all day?" He asks.

He is very close, too close for my comfort. He is unhinged and apparently running a fever, as Weasley said, because his body feels like a furnace.

"How do you know where I've been? Weasley told me you didn't leave your room today."

"I have my means... maybe I'll tell you later," he says, leaning in as though for a kiss, and... _What the actual fuck?!_ I bolt out, throwing him off me.

"What the hell is going on, Potter?!" I shout, watching as he catches himself against the foot of the bed. "Is this a fucking dream again?! Or what?!"

"Maybe?" He shrugs. “What does it matter?”

Is he fucking kidding me?

"It does matter to me to know whether I lost my mind or not... not sure about you," I say, "Though you already look completely bonkers."

"If it were a dream?" He asks, taking a step in my direction. "What would you do?"

"Don't move, Potter," I warn him, "stay where you are."

I mean... I don't know. If it were a _dream_... then probably I'd just go along with it, not resisting too much. Why can't it be like in a dream between us - for real? The thought strikes me. Why do we always have to fight?

"Stay where you are," I repeat, "I need to check something."

I go to the bathroom and unbutton my shirt again. Here they are. Every single one. I am almost disappointed, honestly. If it turned out to be a dream, I would give in to this _thing_ between us, because obviously in a dream I don't have control over it. Okay, fine. I button the shirt up. It's a reality, Malfoy - deal with it.

When I step back into the room, he is sitting on the bed with his back hunched. I sit down in the armchair, safely a few paces away.

"I think we should talk, Potter. What's going on?"

He sighs, hugging himself. "I just... thought that after last night..." He looks up at me, and _Oh,_ last night arises in my memory.

"I mean, even it were only a dream... it was... okay, I thought that maybe we should drop this fucking pretence and try things for real?"

 _What?_ "And you thought that attacking me in your room is the best way to do it?"

"Sorry, I'm a bit... sick, you see." He rubs at his eyes. "Couldn't think straight."

"I see," I say faintly. Did Potter just propose me?.. What exactly? Sex? Dating? _Relationship?_

He stands up. "But if you don't want that, say so... it's just... I assumed that you do... I mean... we shared those dreams together, you know... you participated as much as I did."

_Oh did I..._

I stand up, watching him approach.

When he begins unbuttoning my shirt, I don't resist, I don't even flinch. With my heart pounding, I stand still, having no idea what to do.

"What do you want, Potter?" I ask, as he pulls the shirt down my shoulders to let it fall on the floor.

"I want to show you," he says, putting his palm on my chest just where my heart is going mad, "that no matter where it's happening, it is _as real_ as we want it to be."

I watching as he slides his palm down my chest, over my stomach and up again… _Wiping the scars from my skin, as though they were pencil doodles on a paper._

My heart drops.

"Fuck, no..." I shake my head, _honestly..._ "This is a dream..."

"Yes," he whispers, bringing his lips to where the scars have been, "but it doesn't matter."

"It _does_ ," I say resignedly, sliding my fingers through his hair. Fuck. _Why, oh why?_ Why, for once, can't we have it for real?

 _It does, because tomorrow you are going to act as though it doesn't matter,_ I want to say, but what's the point? It won't change anything. At least in a dream I can have what I want and he wants to let me.

Tilting his face up, I bring down my lips. Gripping me around the waist, he growls as though he's been waiting for this, for _me_ ; waiting to finally be unleashed. His skin is so hot, he is burning, and if all this were real, he would probably be very ill. But it's not real, so his fever doesn't matter; it's nothing more than a weird detail.

"I don't care," he says against my lips, "I want it all."

He pulls me towards the bed, shedding his pyjama bottoms, and he sits at the edge - fully naked - eyeing me up and down. I take in the sight in front of me: his body so strong and ready, and pliant in anticipation; my hands reach for my belt on the will of their own.

"Come here," he says, shuffling backwards.

My clothes fall on the floor around my feet and I step out of them. I come - to feel, to touch, to have and possess and do whatever I want, and he is letting me. He arches into my touch, and I love how he throws his head back, how his neck strains when I wrap my palm around his cock. I am planting kisses over his chest. So many times he kissed me like this, I want to return the favour. His nipples are tiny and brown and hard, I give each one a lick, moving lower down, nuzzling my way to his navel to dip my tongue in there. I kiss his belly and the place just beneath his sharp hip bone, feeling coarse hairs under my palm. This is the first time I see these secret places; is this how he really looks, not only in a dream?

My mouth finds his cock, sliding down and up again, until he puts his hand on my head. "Stop, please," he says.

I look up. Doesn't he like it? Am I doing this wrong?

"I want you... to do it to me all the way," he says, "I'd rather not come into your mouth."

I sit up. "You mean... you want me to top?"

"I... yes." There's _something_ about the way he looks at me... something I can't fathom.

"What is it, Potter?" I run my hands up and down his legs.

"Nothing," he says, "come here."

He grips my wrist, tugging me down to lie on top of him, and I lodge myself between his open thighs.

"You need preparation," I say, and it gives me a sense of déjà-vu.

"No, it's alright." He wraps his legs around my hips.

Of course it is, as it was for me in the dream, and whether he had a cock up the arse just today or a while ago, it doesn't actually matter, he doesn’t need preparation. This is not real.

"Open your hand," he says, and when I do, he pours thick liquid into my palm right from his fingertips.

When I breach him, he resists more than I expect. I stop, waiting it out.

"Go on,” he says, and I do, sinking slowly down, and he hisses through the gritted teeth.

We stay still like this for a while, until he moves beneath me, trying to buck up. I move in response, and we both exhale; he wraps his legs around me again. It feels so good and almost unbearable. I am afraid, once I move it will be over for me. But it's a fantasy, isn't it? And in a fantasy I am able to hold back as long as I want.

"Come on," he says, _"do it."_ And I feel his blunt nails dig into my lower back.

"Do what?" I want him to _say it._

 _"Fuck me."_ He bucks up. "Give it to me, like you _mean it."_

_And oh do I?_

I begin moving, slowly at first, and then faster between his gasps, watching how he bites his lip, how his face changes at my every touch.

"I'll give it you," I force the words forward to fall heavy and hard, "I'll give it to you _so good,_ you'll never doubt the meaning of it."

"Yes, _do it_ ," he repeats, and I'm doing... _oh I am doing it._

His stiff cock, trapped beneath my stomach, drags against my belly back and forth with our every move.

 _"Oh, fuck..."_ he gasps, "don't stop." And when he digs his fingers in my buttocks, I feel the wetness messily smearing between us. When I begin to shudder, he clings to me, not letting go, until I'm spent.

We lie still for a while, and I'm probably crushing him, but he doesn't ask me to move so I don't. My head is resting on his shoulder, and his fingers are drawing circles on my back. I am so tired, my eyes are closing... I stubbornly make them stay open, _fuck..._ I know where this is going. I want it to stop, to stay still. I want the moment to never end. I know I want too much.

"I don't want to fall asleep," he says in my ear, "because... you know."

Yes, I know.

"Why can't we sort it out in real life, Potter?"

"I don't know... but... when I'm awake, something holds me back. I don't know, like..." He falls silent.

"What?" Come on, _fucking say it_ , before we are awake.

"I think I'm afraid of you making fun of me,” he finally says, “if I approached you..."

"Why should I?"

If anything... if it comes to it, I am afraid of the very same thing.

"Because that's what you do." He shrugs. "Isn't it how things are between us?"

Although he's not wrong, his words sting. I haven't thought about it this way, but though in my mind I've long ceased to be hostile and mean towards Potter, have I ever tried to let him know it in no uncertain terms?

"It is." I have nothing to do but agree.

"See? You admit it. This is why," he says, "actually, I'm not even sure all this is not made up in my head. I don't know whether I really want it, or I just think I want it because of these dreams."

My heart sinks. Because - if anything - this one thing about me is what I'm pretty sure of. If he asked me whether I’m sure I want it – I’d say yes; any time. This is exactly why I play 'normal' and like nothing happened when we are awake. Because I'm always afraid I'm into it more than he is, that he's not into it at all, and... _fuck,_ he's just added a ton to my insecurities, all but confirming everything I am afraid of.

"When I think of it..." he continues, his hand ceasing its movement on my back, "I'm not even out, and I don't see it happening any time soon...probably it's cowardly and... but anyway, I don't think I'm ready just yet."

"It's perfectly fine..." I try to be reasonable. I try. "You don't have to rush things, if you're not ready." And I sort of mean it... and I know that right now I'm being a jerk, making it all about myself... and obviously I don't have the right to even hope for anything. All the same, understanding crushes me heavily, making me sick. _Fuck._

"You know..." He resumes stroking my back but doesn't finish, because there is a sound of the opening door. I turn my head to look over my shoulder. Weasley is standing in the middle of the room, absolutely bewildered.

"Ron," Potter says faintly, rising up a bit, "but... I've locked the door."

I climb off him to sit up, turning fully to Weasley. "This is a _dream_ , Potter," I snap, "don't chicken out."

I'm suddenly so angry. I stand up, reaching for the heap of my clothes on the floor, letting Weasley fully observe my nakedness and a mess of Potter's come that is drying on my stomach, leaving no doubt of what he sees, what has been going on here.

"Fuck," Weasley utters, staring at Potter who looks completely debauched among the crumpled sheets.

Throwing my shirt on, I retrieve my trousers; my pants are nowhere to be seen, but fuck it. Fastening the belt, I grab my shoes and head barefoot to the door.

The last thing I see is a look of utter horror on Weasley's face. And honestly... it’s a pity all this is not real, and he won't have a clue in the morning that he saw me naked, leaving freshly fucked Potter in his bed.

I slam the door behind me. Hard. I'm so fucking fed up, why wouldn't I wake up sooner?

**

I know instantly by the look on Weasley's face in the morning. He hasn't said a word, but I _know_ . The _thing_ has gone out of hand. It wasn't only mine and Potter's dream this time, Weasley was very much present there, too.

At breakfast I watch as Weasley says something into Potter's ear, glancing in my direction. Potter starts and turns to gape at him, blush spreading up the side of his neck. Half-smile on Weasley's face falters to be replaced with wariness. He has obviously meant it as a joke, and look how turns out.

Sometimes you should just keep your mouth shut, Weasley, and your dreams to yourself, even from your best friends, if you don't want to be shocked or disappointed. Self-preservation. This I learned a hard way.

Saying something, Potter stands up and Weasley follows. Together they leave the Great Hall. He didn’t look in my direction even once. I am not surprised.

I feel weirdly disconnected from reality, torn between Potter’s dream-image and real him. It's like having an anonymous pen-friend whom you share your deepest secrets with, and when their identity is suddenly revealed, you realise that this person seems like no one you've ever talked to. They have nothing in common with that mysterious friend whom you trusted and liked and even had a crush on, who accepted you exactly as you are and never judged or laughed at you, who always seemed so cool and sorted out, having all the answers. It finally hits home that they are the same person you've never got along with, the same person who once hated your guts, who never particularly liked you, the person you would never consider sharing your thoughts with, the one you'd never even think to turn to. And it feels like a loss, like a punch, a slap in the face, because everything about it was fake. Everything is taken from you, and how on earth will you ever replace it?

 _Oh, fuck it._ Fuck you, Potter, and your fucking precious friendship and indecision. I don't give a fuck! And don't you fucking dare even approach me again, here or in a fucking dream. _Fuck you!_ I exhale.

I wish I could throw these words in his stupid face. But I won't. From now on, I'm going to ignore him as if he were an empty space. I'll concentrate on my studies until this fucking course is complete, and I'll achieve my transformation on my own. I don't need Potter or his help to do it. I'm so fucking fed up with him, he would only hold me back now. Making this resolution, I go to the first class.

**

It goes like this for a few days. We act as though the other doesn't exist. I don't know what had happened between him and Weasley, but seems like the truth came out. Weasley is all weird. Sometimes he looks at me. I turn away, I don’t care. Weasley is not my concern.

The dreams haven't repeated again, thank Merlin. But even if they come eventually, I'm prepared to hex Potter into oblivion, if he as much as dares to look at me the 'wrong' way.

Several times I approached the Room of Requirement, but he obviously was in there and the Room refused to provide me with a separate facet at the same time. _Fine._

Being determined to pursue my transformation, I begin to leave the castle after dusk. I'm scared, but do I have a choice? I just have to be careful and not enter the Forest, and avoid being out at the Full Moon; better safe than sorry.

I restrict my wanderings to the Lake area and not beyond. For the first few nights I'm all stressed out by the darkness and unknown it conceals. A spot on my nape prickles, as though being watched, and goosebumps rise over my skin. I've come to rely on the Room’s safety too much.

A week passes and it becomes easier. I actually feel something shifts, just like now... There is this feeling of dissolving, at the very back of my mind - the one that transports me into the right state, the one that refuses to come forward just yet, but which is undoubtedly _there._ This is funny, haven’t things got better once I got Potter out of my mind?

"Malfoy."

I jump. "Fucking hell, Potter!"

Mention the devil.

He steps from behind the tree.

"What are you doing here?" I rise on my feet. Honestly, things have been good and well, don't tell me all this isn't real and I’m in a fucking dream again.

"You shouldn't wander the grounds at night on your own." he says, stepping closer, "you know it's dangerous."

"Don't tell me what to do... and for fuck's sake, _stay where you are."_ I shuffle backwards to put more distance between us. "You've been following me? How did you know where to look?"

"I have my means," he says, raising his hand, and I see he is holding a folded piece of parchment.

"Oh, I've heard this tale already," I say and instantly regret it, for I'm referring to our last shared dream, damn. "What the hell is that?"

"I have the map," he says reluctantly, "that shows everyone within Hogwarts boundaries. So this is how."

" _No way,_ Potter..." I protest, but wheels are already turning in my head, putting together all the tiny pieces that didn't make sense. This is how, of course... If he had such a map in his possession, he would have easily known my whereabouts at any given moment and could find me anywhere within Hogwarts, literally _anywhere_ ... As he always did. _Fuck._ I feel exposed, humiliated.

"How long?" I ask faintly. Honestly, this is too much.

"Since the third year."

Fucking hell, all this time Potter's been spying on me whenever he felt like it.

"Does it show _everything?_ Like... literally any place within the castle?"

"Yes, except for the Room of Requirement," he says.

"Why?"

"I don't know." He shrugs. "It never does. If a person is there, they just disappear from the map."

"This is where I should've hidden from you then." I stand up. It's not funny, it’s fucking humiliating, and I don't even know what to say to Potter right now.

"Actually, this is why I'm here. We could use the Room in turns, if you don't want to share it with me. You don't need to risk your safety because of me." He takes a step forward.

" _Don’t move_ , Potter. Don't approach me," I warn him, drawing my wand, "I don't know if this is a dream, I don't care. I'll hex you into the ground, I don't give a fuck."

"It's not a dream." He shakes his head. "Don't be ridiculous." He approaches me all the same, and I am ready to strike any second, but he just passes me, not even looking in my direction. He sounds mostly tired, and I don't know even... I feel a bit disappointed to be honest. I braced myself for a fight.

"Come on, Malfoy," he throws over his shoulder, heading to the castle, "don't hang out in the open like an idiot."

Gripping my wand tight, I follow in the distance. He's probably right, but hell if I admit it.

"Why do you care, Potter?" I sat to his back, following him up the hill.

"I saved you from a Werewolf, remember?" He throws his hands in the air. "At a great personal risk, as they say."

"And so what?" I say archly. I mean, yes, he did, but why bring it up now?

"And so _nothing,_ " he says, not even turning to look at me.

What does it even mean?

**

In my dream I am an Animal again. Finally. Swift and strong, graceful. I look down at my reflection in the Lake surface. My slick black fur and transparent green eyes, my large paws and the tail that lashes impatiently against my sides. This _is_ a dream, and I know it.

When a huge black Dog appears to stand beside me, I start. Pressing my ears to my head, I hiss, baring my sharp fangs. _You are not welcome,_ I mean. _Go away,_ I mean. The Dog does. Turning around, it trots towards the Forest, disappearing among the trees. Good. I don't need the Dog.

I open my eyes. The lawn is lit with red and gold from the setting sun. Seems like I've dozed off only for a minute. I've been trying to let my mind drift, to let the Cat out.

There is a sound of opening door, loud in the quiet meadow. Potter steps inside. Now, what the hell does he want this time? Only last night we agreed to use the Room in turns.

"Malfoy!" He calls, not seeing me under the tree, "Hey! Malfoy!"

"What?"

So much for agreement.

"I think I know what may help. Have you ever tried to cast a Patronus?"

"No, I haven't," I say defensively.

I don't want to bring it up. I don't want to discuss it, and least of all with Potter, with the smug stupid bastard who succeeded with a corporeal Patronus by the age of thirteen, for fuck's sake!

Rumours spread quickly around the school. I bragged they were false, of course, and I wanted to believe it, but deep down I knew, _I knew_ . _He did it._  He did it against the army of Dementors, Father told me later, refusing to name his source. Now I think it must have been Pettigrew. When at the beginning of the fifth year, they were all astonished that Potter was able to cast a full corporeal Patronus, I wanted to laugh in their faces. _Idiots!_ I wanted to say to them. _Of course he is,_ I wanted to say, _you have no idea what he is capable of._ Oh, I was so angry: at him, at myself; so envious. I Felt so useless, cowardly, weak. I lashed out at Potter at every opportunity, trying to compensate, I suppose, to look better in my own eyes, to be the person my Father would have approved of. I was such a rotten little shit.

Now he wants to bring it all up again. The Patronus-issue always made me feel like that. There was a time I stubbornly tried but never succeeded. I either lacked power or control, or both. I don't think I lacked happy memories, no, not with my childhood. For a long time I wished it to be a Dragon. Initially those were my Father's expectations, which he instilled on me at some point. Desperately trying not to disappoint him, I attempted to perform it the wrong way, I suppose, focusing on the shape that would emerge, rather than on that emotion which the charm is driven by. And later... after that nightmarish summer when the Dark Lord began to reside in my home, there was nothing left in me to even try to cast such a thing. By now, all this has worn off somewhat, and maybe I'd be able to... if I were powerful enough, which I am not. So in any case the Patronus-thing always made me feel ill and disappointed with myself; I don't want to discuss it with Potter, now or ever.

"You should try," he says eagerly, "you see..."

"No, I shouldn't," I snap, "I don't want to discuss it, Potter." I stand up. "I'd appreciate if you never brought it up again."

His face falls. "As you wish," he says irritably, raising his palms in defence.

"Good," I say, turning on my heel and leaving the Room.

**

Maybe everything that is needed in this case, is to wait it out? Sooner or later it has to get better, right? That's what I like to think, or try to convince myself. Because in fact... ever since that night a week ago, I don't feel very well. I was fooling myself all along, convincing myself I was doing fine. It's getting worse. I miss Potter, and what is most terrifying – I’m nowhere near ‘better’ without him. I need his presence, physically need it; it's a bond, I think. If indeed it is, Potter must feel the same way. Sometimes the urge is so overwhelming, that I barely restrain myself from giving in and going to him. I don't mean anything like... you know, it's just I feel as though merely sitting close to him would be enough, would make me feel better. I lose my sleep, I feel delirious half the time. And judging by his looks, Potter isn't any better.

So when he sits beside me at dinner, we both exhale in relief.

"Malfoy, I've been thinking..." he says, and the sound of his voice makes me turn, for it’s hoarse and weak and defeated, "seems like this thing... - the bond or - whatever, is taking hold. I mean..." His face is gaunt, skin stretched tight, and there's that unhealthy feverish gleam to his eyes; when has Potter grown so thin? "Seems like it needs to be satisfied..."

Satisfied? "How?" I say faintly.

"If we spent a bit of time daily in each other's presence, it would be enough, I think. Remember what Hermione told us? We ignored it, and here we go. You feel as shitty as you look, I suppose." He cringes.

"This is a pot calling a kettle, Potter." I roll my eyes. We didn't just _'ignore'_ it, and he knows it. When we didn't distance ourselves from each other, we felt better, but the proximity, it seems, induces those fucking dreams, while the distance drains us of our energy.

"So what do you suggest?" I ask. Honestly, maybe he's right, and spending a bit of time together would be enough to feel better, not letting things go out of hand?

"If we meet daily, say, in the Room after dinner, for like... half an hour - just to sit together or... whatever. We don't even have to talk."

He's not asking much, isn't he? And really, I am ready to go with it. I think it's not that big a price to pay for feeling myself better, for this constant weakness and fever to recede. Maybe I'll get to sleep again?

"Fine, Potter. Whatever," I say, trying not to sound too eager lest he gets any wrong ideas.

"Okay, good." He nods. "So meet you there tonight, after dinner." He stands up.

"Wait... you mean, tonight? Like... in an hour?" I ask dumbly.

"Yes," he says, and walks away, and... I want to say that maybe we'd better start tomorrow, but he's already far down the table, and I wouldn't shout after Potter for the whole Great Hall to hear, would I?

**

"See, Malfoy," he says by my side, "I was right, it works."

It does, and I feel so much better since we had sat down with him under the tree a half an hour ago. 'Better' to say the least, for the moment he approached me, I felt a relief so profound I could barely contain myself. Could barely restrain my body from reacting, my hands from reaching for him and _touching_. I wanted his skin, needed it. I still need it. The thought that, apparently, he feels all this no less than I do, makes me hot in the face, sending another kind of tremors over me.

Saying nothing, I close my eyes. Finally, for the first time in a week, I feel good, but so tired at the same time, so sleepy. I haven't slept normally for days and it shows.

"You know..." Potter says, "that thing that I told you... a week ago..."

"What thing?" I open my eyes to look at him. Setting sun is reflecting in his eyes, turning their deep green golden.

"That I'm not ready for anyone to know about me..." He hesitates. "Being gay."

"What about it?" Of all the things he could have said, this one is the most unexpected one.

"Ron knows. I told him, and... it's fine, sky didn't fall on my head."

"Of course it didn't." I shrug. But secretly I'm awed that Weasley took it well. "It's just a thing, like any other."

"Not everyone thinks so."

"Well, it's not everyone's business." I shrug.

"Malfoy... how long..." He stops. "I mean, when you say that, it seems so easy for you... Has it always been that way? Because to hear it from you is..."

"What?" I peer at him. I really want to know what he thinks.

"I mean, your family is kind of conservative, isn't it? All that heir stuff and all..."

"Yes, very." I nod. "But I sort of broken up with my family... how else do you think would I be able to end up in the Aurors?"

He stares at me. "I didn't think."

I nod.

"Wow, it's... I can't imagine how can you break up with a family if you have one," he continues, "I don't think I'd ever be able to do that... I mean... the Weasley's - they're the only family I've ever had. I can't just walk away, I don't want to... this is sort of why I never told them. What if they wouldn't accept it? And..." he stammers, "you don't speak to your parents?"

"Oh, my Mum is fine, we're in touch... it's with my Father things got fucked up... He's in Azkaban, and I'm in the Aurors, and I happen to be gay. This is his worst nightmare." I laugh, but I'm bitter. It's fine, mostly. I've reconciled with it, but... these things never happen as easily as they sound, as Potter may see them.

"And besides," I say, "it's easier not to give a fuck about what other people think, when your own Father had disowned you."

"Oh, no... he didn't." Potter's eyes widen.

"He did."

"That's... I'm sorry, Malfoy."

"It has nothing to do with you, Potter, don't apologise.”

"I mean, I'm sorry that I've assumed it's so easy for you, that was a dumb thing to say. But you seem so... chill, so..." He smiles, and I realise I like this dorky version of him: awkward and a bit shy.

"Chill? Do I seem chill to you?"

If someone told me that a while ago, when I was trying so desperately to impress Potter, I think it would have done wonders to my self-esteem.

"Yep." He nudges me with his shoulder, and I nudge him back. Here we are, talking like normal people and not some angsty idiots we used to turn into against each other. It strikes me that we sit here far longer than our 'assigned' half an hour, and it feels good.

"Well..." Potter clears his throat, seems like he is having the same thoughts, which brings things suddenly back to awkward. "I think it's time to go..."

"Yes," I agree, standing up and stretching my legs.

"You know, actually, I have to hurry, Ron's waiting for me to... fix something." He is making it up, and he knows I know it, but whatever.

"So, thanks for..."

"What?" I ask.

"For honesty, it means a lot." He rubs at the back of his neck. "See you, Malfoy."

"See you."

He hurries to the door, leaving me behind.

**

I am a Cat, and he's a Dog, and we are running through the wilderness side by side, the Werewolf chasing us. Though I can tell it's a dream, I am scared out of my mind. I feel the beast's harsh breathing at my nape, the sound of bushes being broken through is loud in the night Forest. I could have climbed a tree and be done with it, and I probably should have had -  I'm a Cat, for fuck's sake! But I haven't, and I won't, because I cannot leave the Dog. He didn't abandon me when my life depended on it.

The familiar clearing lies before us, and we are in the open, exposed. It was a mistake, but here we are in the middle: facing the forest side by side under the Full Moon. The beast is nowhere to be seen, but I know it’s lurking in the darkness, barely out of sight, aiming to outsmart us. Its scent lingers around, and the Dog sniffs the air. I feel his fear and determination to fight for our lives. His furry side is pressed to mine, and I distantly indicate how hard it feels to the touch, every rib standing out unyielding, compared to my soft liquid frame. His presence grounds me and makes me feel protective at the same time. However strong and fearless he is, he's just a Dog within his limits; a lot of things that are my nature are alien and inaccessible to him.

I see them first - glowing out of the darkness. Red pair of eyes. When the roar breaks the quiet, I am ready. The next moment the Werewolf is upon us, and I am sinking my claws into its back. With a roar, the Dog pounces, aiming for its throat, making it tear the night with a wild scream. The beast falls heavily on its back, crashing me into the ground. A déjà-vu is playing out in my head. I can't breathe, I can't move; pain is surging through me, rendering me helpless, unable to bolt out, to throw the heavy weight off. I am trapped between pain and terror, I feel my body begins to shift.

 _No. Not that again._ But it is happening - the thing I should be able to prevent, to control. I am not, and it's happening, leaving me naked as a baby at the Werewolf's mercy. I feel the weight lifts, allowing me to breathe. Now I expect to hear the Dog taking the beast on, saving my life again... But there's no Dog, the Moon is bright in my eyes, and there just the two of us. I am as good as dead.

When sharp teeth sink into my neck, bringing the pain I've never felt before, I scream and scream, and screaming myself hoarse as the hands on my shoulders are shaking me.

"Malfoy... Malfoy... Shhh..."

I open my eyes. The room is dimly lit by the bedside lamp, and I stare right into Potter's glasses that reflect the light.

"It's okay." He stops shaking me. "It's a dream."

I am staring at him, my heart going insane.

"Malfoy... are you alright?"

"You abandoned me!" I accuse him. "You've just fucking left me there, Potter, _how could you?!"_ I bat his hands off. I sound hysterical to my own ears.

"Shhh... it was a dream, it wasn't real," he says, sitting down at the edge of my bed.

Of course it wasn't. I'm pissed off with him all the same.

"I woke up and heard you screaming, that's why I'm... that's why I'm here."

He's woken up first, that's why he disappeared from the dream, I suppose.

"Thanks." I sit up in the bed. "The beast had already started feeding on me, by the way."

Potter winces, rubbing at his face. "This is fucked up. Okay..." He looks around the room, as though hesitating. "I think I should go."

"Potter..."

"What?" He turns from the door.

More than anything I want him to stay. Because I'm afraid to fall asleep alone  and because I want him here - his presence and his safety.

"Thanks," I say. I'm not going to ask him for it; I haven't stooped that low yet.

"No problem," he replies, disappearing behind the door

**

_All is right in the meadow_

_When I'm lying next to my fellow_

_Baby, that's you_

_One way trip like an arrow_

_All laid out like a tarot_

_Baby, that's you, you-you_

_[Troye Sivan, ‘Animal’]_

Since that night... I don't know, but something has shifted. Something's changed towards that understanding between us, which is very quiet but undoubtedly there. It lingers along with his gaze on me and refuses to back down. It is right there, in the green of his eyes speckled with gold that follow me whenever he thinks I am not aware of him. It is in my own reluctance to part that grows every night. It is in this surety that is rising in me, growing louder, disagreeing to be ignored every time I see him. Once I thought it's the bond, and perhaps it is. But this tenderness, threatening to take over, this urge to look at his face, never getting enough, this desire to _give_ more than take... Those feel like beasts of a very different nature.

So when he kisses me out of nowhere, when I'm lying next to him in the meadow, I'm not even that surprised. I see it coming well before it finally happens. We are lying side by side, watching the scarce white clouds across the sky. When he props himself on the elbow in the grass, I already _know._ Holding my breath, I wait, until he overcomes his hesitation, until he makes that tiny movement, marking the point of no return. Looking down at me, he does, and when our eyes meet, he knows I am waiting. Slowly, very slowly, as though afraid to startle me or us both, he leans over me - down and down, obscuring the sky, until nothing is left for me, except for his flushed face that now makes my whole world. When our lips meet, I close my eyes, for there is nothing left to see, and all I can do now is _feel._ The kiss is so tender... it is as though I barely know him again. But of course I barely do, this is our first kiss, everything is new and about to be discovered. I feel his fingers slip down under my nape, cradling  my head, rubbing tiny circles through my hair. I raise myself on the elbows to meet him, to push up with my whole body and linger, to grip his waist and drag him down with me into the grass. He smells like summer, and I breath him in, pressing my face into that secret warm place under his chin, where the skin is tender and vulnerable, barely touched with stubble, but enough to leave the burn on my lips, and oh I wish them to burn, _let them._

"Malfoy..." He arches his neck.

"My name is Draco" I say into his skin, "for fuck's sake..."

"Draco..." He looks down at me, and I notice he is without glasses, I don't remember him taking them off.

 _No,_ I shake my head.

 _Fuck, no._..

“Don’t you _dare_ , Potter,” I hiss, but he is already dissolving into thin air... And I jerk awake in the meadow.

Setting sun has painted everything golden, even the green of his eyes that are staring at me mere inches away, huge and scared.

**

_No angels could beckon me back_

_And it's hotter than hell where I'm at_

_[Troye Sivan, ‘Animal’]_

We are facing each other, and he is so close, that I feel rather than see the movement of his chest with his every breath. And then he stops breathing, completely. In a few seconds of a total stillness I have to make my decision. Which is an impossible thing to do either way. I am suspended in the unknown, scared to make a move, afraid not to. Until he exhales, and takes his glasses off.

"I'm not going anywhere," he says, putting them down, and kisses me. And we pick it up right where we've left it.

"Don't you fucking dare," I repeat, pushing him down on his back, and my voice sounds hoarse from disuse.

He shakes his head, his face all smile and serious eyes. I feel his fingers close around my wrist. He probably means it as reassurance, I take it as encouragement. Straddling him, I loom over, grabbing his wrists to press them into the grass above his head. He is trapped beneath me, and I know this time he won't try to break free. Bringing his hand to my mouth, I kiss his wrist and palm, and when he trails my lips with his fingers, I realise my eyes are closed. Caught in the moment, I am reluctant to open them, so overwhelmed I am with this tenderness, desire and terror - all at once. When his palm cups my face - so inviting - I lay my cheek to rest there and finally look at him. His eyes are wide and intense and gentle, and there's this caution to them, as though he's waiting it out to see what I am to do next. We stare at each other in silence, until he abruptly sits up. When he bumps into me, squeezing me so that my ribs hurt, when his lips are suddenly having their way, I realise he's done waiting it out... _oh he's so done._

There's possessive urgency in his every breath, and he is already unbuttoning my shirt. I don't mind. When his fingertips start trailing patterns on my chest, I don't have to look down, I know them with my eyes closed - every single one.

"I am sorry," he whispers into my chest, and I feel the first touch of his lips to the scar. "I'm so so sorry. I wish I could wipe them all away."

He kisses another one, again and again. He can't wipe them or kiss them away. We both know nothing can erase them, and perhaps it's good that we do, that we have the ever-present remainder of the things each of us committed. He is brushing his lips along my skin relentlessly, acknowledging every single scar, and I am grateful. Winding my fingers into his hair, I cradle his head against my chest. There's this urge in me: to rub my face against his hair, and I give in, feeling a low rumble vibrating deep in my throat.

"You're purring." He laughs, looking up at me.

"So what if I am?" I lean down to kiss him.

"So nothing," he says, "it's an Animal thing."

The next second I am on my back in the grass as he straddles me. Reaching for his belt, he sets to unbuckling it slowly, as though savouring every tiny sound it gives. Mesmerised, I follow his movements as though in a slow motion.

"Take your shirt off," I say. And the time speeds up: the next moment he sheds his clothes, helping me get rid of mine, and there is only our nakedness between us.

"Pray it's not a dream again, Potter..." I say,  but I know it's not. I'm sure this time it is not.

He winds his legs around me, bucking up. We'd been here before, in this very moment, but at the same time we haven't, and everything is new.

"I want it to be just like then." He rubs against me, his erection pressing into my belly. "Just the way we did it."

"Just like when?" I press my forehead to his. I am teasing of course, I know what he is asking. I want to hear it anyway.

"Just like _then_." He squeezes his legs around me. "You know what I mean."

_Is he shy?_

"Oh do I?" I grind down. "If you want anything in particular, you should ask for it."

"You're impossible, Malfoy." He captures my lips.

"Don't you _'Malfoy'_ me, Potter." I tear my lips away.

"You're _'Pottering'_ me all the time." He grins.

"Do you want me to top?" I ask, because he's not giving in, and I am impatient. I want to be certain in this.

His eyes widen a fraction. "Yes."

"Since you asked so _nicely_..." I sit back, reaching for my wand.

"Oh, shut up." He runs his palms up my thighs.

Unlike the dream, this time requires preparation, and by the look on his face, I can tell he's not enjoying it that much.

"It's been a while for you, yeah?" I say into his temple, sliding my fingers inside back and forth.

He nods. "It's fine, go on."

" _Fuck._.." His face cringes when I line up and push.

I stop. "Hurts?"

He nods. "Wait."

I wait and try again, and stop and wait and move again.

"Go on." He closes his eyes. Slowly, I go on, until I'm fully in.

He tries to move beneath me, and I meet him in the middle with every slide, until he grabs my shoulders, suddenly rolling us around.

"May I?" He asks, pressing me into the grass.

He looms over me against the faded sky where the first stars are appearing. I haven't noticed when twilight has come.

He rises and falls and slides against me, pressing my shoulders down.

"That's better," he says, leaning in, "kiss me."

I kiss him, and he goes faster, goes wild, driving me mad, pulling me along and it's not a kiss, it's just our breathing. The wave rises in me, merciless, no matter how hard I try to hold it back. It crashes down, rendering my body to disobey me, for it goes rigid - arching through the peak, and then falls down helpless, weak with bliss and liquid, feeling only distantly his shudder and moan, until his weight is finally heavy on me, and I hold him in my arms.

"You know..." He says into my shoulder later, when we are almost asleep.

"What?" I ask, for he doesn't elaborate further. We are facing each other, our bodies tangled under the soft blanket that appeared out of nowhere.

"I've never done this before."

I lean back to look at him.

"I don't know if I should tell you this, but... I already have, so..." He shrugs.

"Oh, okay..." My hand is stroking his back under the blanket. "It's... unexpected."

"Is it really?" He is surprised.

"Well, it is. I mean... it never had crossed my mind that you might be a virgin," I say. He cringes at the word.

"But you were _so..._ in the dream you definitely knew what you were doing," I say.

Well, I suppose it makes sense: how it went at the beginning. But why my heart speeds up - is the thought that he wanted me to be his first, trusted me enough to ask for it. This is something that needs yet to sink in.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Didn't want to freak you out." He grins. "I was freaking out alright on my own."

"Merlin, Potter." I shake my head. "If I knew, I would have been... more careful."

"You _were_ careful." He presses closer. "And stop _Pottering_ me."

"Did I hurt you much?" Fuck, maybe he's right. If he told me beforehand, I'd most definitely have been overthinking.

"A bit," he says, pressing his nose to mine.

"I'm sorry... you're insane, by the way." I tighten my arm around his waist.

"This is a pot calling a kettle, _Malfoy._ " He kisses me.

I don't know where all this leads us, and I'm not sure still where I stand, but I would gladly stay in this moment forever: just the two of us.

"You won't disappear in the morning?" He says quietly. He is uncertain, too, and is probably as anxious as I am, but the one thing I know: he doesn't want me to leave.

"You won't get rid of me that easily," I say. And I know he won't. Hope fills me with a secret, glowing, making me safe and warm. Happy and terrified.

**

_I am an animal with you..._

_[Troye Sivan, ‘Animal’]_

I am surfacing out of the dream slowly, and then suddenly in blink of an eye I'm awake. My eyes snap open. Something is different. The night is singing to me, grasses are whispering, and I swear, I comprehend the long forgotten voice of breeze. _Smells_ , thousands of smells in the air. I raise my head. Flowers in the meadow are nodding to me, and in the pale night air I am able to acknowledge each and every one. I stretch.

A movement beside me - soft and firm - reminds me that I'm not alone. Of course I am not, I haven't forgotten, and my joy is as bright as before: he is not going anywhere either. I turn to him.

Curled into a tight ball, his giant head resting on his paws, the steady rise and fall of his side tells me that he's still asleep. I crawl closer, tentatively bringing my nose to his, and in an instant he bolts awake, springing on his paws fully alert. We stare at each other. As in our human form, we are almost even: I am taller and longer a bit, but he looks more solid and stronger. I don't know how or when it happened, but it did, and this feeling in my chest tells me why. With him I am able to be my truest self; it's only taken me this long to finally realise it. Sniffing the air, he takes a tentative step forward to touch me with his nose. He wiggles his tale, and I swear he smiles, or would have grinned, if he were human. Leaning in, I rub my cheek against the fur of his neck, the side of his head, low purr vibrating deep down in my throat. He bumps his broad forehead into me once, twice, and then pounces, leaping around me in circles. I follow him with my eyes, and my head spins. He obviously beckons me to join the play. We are too different: my frame is slender and pliant, and there's deceptive softness to my deadly paws; he is firm and unyielding, and obvious in his strength, he is fast but hardly a match for my liquid swiftness. Next to me he is clumsy as a puppy, and as funny, when he is like this. I want to curl into his body and fall asleep, safe and protected. Instead, he jumps right at me, giving me a lick on the nose - I huff, I don't think I like it. But he's already halfway to the exit that is concealed behind the large tree.

There's nothing left to me but follow. Side by side we are trotting down the dark corridors in silence, and probably it is a bad idea and we may get caught; we are doing it anyway.

Once by the front door, he leads me to the side, where there is a brick that is sliding aside at his touch, revealing the passage behind the old tapestry I had no idea about.

We emerge not far from the Lake at the foot of the old oak-tree that I know well. It is dark outside yet, but the stars are fading.

He turns, giving me a long look, and I know: if he spoke, he'd say " _Race you!_ " So I bolt out first, running around the Lake in the direction of the Forest that is standing dark in the distance. He is not far behind, almost side by side we break into the woods. My body is singing, revelling in freedom and strength, and in how right it feels - to be here like this, together; to be what we are, what we wanted to be.

Dashing in the middle of the clearing, I turn around, making him bump into me at full speed, and we are on the ground in a tangle of limbs. He roars, pretending to bite my paw that is trapped between his teeth; it hurts nonetheless, and I hiss, baring my claws, just a little, to make him release the grip.

 _"Watch what you are doing, you dolt,"_ I would've said, if I could.

Falling on top of me, he presses me into the ground, and no matter how hard I try to turn away, he is licking my face all over - my nose and cheeks and eyes, and even my ears, and I almost howl in outrage to be rendered that undignified. I suppose he is laughing. Kicking with my hind legs, I aim at the underside of his belly, careful, however, not to bare my claws. He starts, and that is enough for me to gain the upper hand. I bolt out, landing on his back with all my paws and close my fangs gently at the back of his neck where fur stands on end. He whimpers, trying to wiggle, to throw me off - in vain, he is trapped. I look down at my paws against his coarse fur. Black on black. I am inky-black, and he's a fraction of a shade lighter. There's this instinctive urge to close my jaw, to bring my fangs for real and feel how they puncture his skin, where the vein is beating wild, to taste his warm blood on my tongue. I am an Animal - _but no_ . Gently I lick at the spot where my teeth have been, purring into his ear, and release him. And in a second he is chasing me again across the clearing and into the woods, and out, out of the wilderness, onto the Hogwarts grounds, in the pale morning air, around the Lake, faster, _faster,_ until we end up at the top of the cliff that is looking out onto the black waters.

Carefully I sit down at the edge, feeling his presence behind me. Slowly he walks towards me, and I don't turn around to look. I feel him with every cell of my body, vibrating to the sound of my purr. He comes up close, touching his nose to the fur at the back of my neck, and sniffs. I love his smell, too. Sitting down next to me, he presses into my side with his whole body, and I press back, and I know: this time neither of us is going anywhere.

He is completely still and quiet beside me, steady beat of his heart the only thing that moves about him. His heartbeat speaks to me and my heart is responding. Words are not needed, I lean into him. In silence we watch at the sun rising over the Lake.

***** The End *****

**_I am on Tumblr:[big-draco-energy](https://big-draco-energy.tumblr.com/)_ **

 

_**[[Troye Sivan, 'Animal']](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6ZdV0C_h9cM) ** _

_I told you something safe_  
_Something I've never said before_  
_And I, I, I can't keep my hands off you_  
_While you lie in the wake_  
_Covered all in the night before_  
_I'm high, high, high, no one's got me quite like you_

 _I want you all to myself_  
_Don't leave none for nobody else_  
_I am an animal with you_  
_No angels could beckon me back_  
_And it's hotter than hell where I'm at_  
_I am an animal with you_

 _An ode to the boy I love_  
_Boy, I'll die to care for you_  
_You're mine, mine, mine, tell me who do I owe that to?_  
_And as the days fly by_  
_We'll be more than getting through, yeah_  
_And in time, time, time, we'll build a home for two_

 _I want you all to myself_  
_Don't leave none for nobody else_  
_I am an animal with you_  
_No angels could beckon me back_  
_And it's hotter than hell where I'm at_  
_I am an animal with you_

 _All is right in the meadow_  
_When I'm lying next to my fellow_  
_Baby, that's you_  
_Baby, that's_  
_Baby, that's you_  
_One way trip like an arrow_  
_All laid out like a tarot_  
_Baby, that's you_  
_Baby, that's_  
_Baby, that's you, you-you_

 _I want you all to myself_  
_Don't leave none for nobody else_  
_I am an animal with you_  
_No angels could beckon me back_  
_And it's hotter than hell where I'm at_  
_I am an animal with you_

_***_

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Feel free to share your opinions with me in the comments below if you want :)  
> Tell me how you came across this fic, I'm really interested to know!


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